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Oh, horror.
I don't invent you as such,
you simply are.
Fading into something
that is no longer there,
even such
remnants of you are stronger with
putrescence than anything I've ever felt.1

I can't create you to my liking
hands as calloused as mine bruise
your paper-thin personality;
crumble before I can
master you.

others will fall for your guise,
destroy them as succinctly
as you have me.





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