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Burnt

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I stare down at my breakfast plate;



I can remember it all like it happened yesterday-
Oh wait, it did.

"We can still just be friends," you said



your eyes, which once held such beauty for me-



little pieces of stained glass that caught the light and make it more beautiful-
were empty; they scattered the oncoming darkness.

I wanted to laugh, but even a smile
hurt my heart, like tiny little knives cutting it into pieces from the inside-out;



throwing the worthless meat over my shoulders






bleeding into the sand.

"Sure." I managed to mumble
the words I want to say catch in my throat, flies in a web
trapped in their bonds, restraint against meaning
I want to scream




"How can you expect us just to be friends?



Forget all those burnt waffles we made together,






All those visits to the strawberry orchards, you mouth tasted like sugar,









Forget all your not-so-innocent touches, all your stupid poems, all your 'I love you's, all your drunk kisses, forget that, forget it all, I can't do it and if you think you can you're just kidding yourself."

But not a word escapes.
I am a master of controlling my emotions.
My face is blank,



but my heart is scarred over and resembles nothing more






than a jet-black charred piece of driftwood, lost in the flaming lakes of Hell.


The taste of burnt waffle churns my stomach.



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