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Untitled MAG
"Are we friends anymore?" she asked me,
the end of the phrase rising into a
floating, pointedly sharp question.
I gulped, looking away from the picture frame
quickly, its shininess suddenly slimy
in the light of my room.
"Yup," I said, a stream of falseness
sliding up my throat.
(I had learned it from her.)
Her neediness clung to me
as I hung up the phone, I not yet
knowing how toxic it was.
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