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Refuse me.
But don’t smear your hatred across my face.
You didn’t love me and I knew that;
But you played my game.
And I can only thank you for it.
But after yelling, kicking, and scratching my face out of your mind.
You can only say it was my fault for dragging you into it.
It was a small thing,
But as harmful as the roaring Pacific beneath the wake.
It dragged you under.
My small hands only beckoned you toward it.
But I didn’t cram it down your throat.




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