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April 2, 2011
She’s standing in the mirror, feeling sick of her reflection
and the constant pine and need for his affection.
She wonders when it ends, when she’ll get to be herself,
hoping Death will leave her system, hoping Time will bring her wealth.
The cuts are getting deeper, the bruises with more force.
Why can’t she just break from his grasp? Her strength is going hoarse.
She doesn’t have much fight left, her kick is fading fast.
Why does he have to love with blood, why does she wear a mask?
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