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What They Do

They’re all the same
Emotion and all
Sickening needs
Of those who cry
It’s simple to them
Surface, that’s all
Nothing deeper
Can touch them at all
They sit tall, stiff
Without a bend in their back
For they don’t know
Less than perfection
They talk about things
Pain and such sort
But they don’t know
What happens
In the darkness
Of one girl’s home
With a simple razor
And a defiance for them all



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