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Scorned

A woman, five-foot-four (five-foot-six with her heels on),
Came up to me and took my hands.
She said they were cold as my heart.
Hers were burning with the passion in her eyes,
Compared.

That passion scorned my face
As I looked her in the eye when she told me
"It's going to be okay."
And I believed her for a minute.
Then doubt crept back into my head.
"Lie to me again." I said,
A stare, cold as ice.

She said to me,
"You're going to be fine,"
The third degree burns imprinting themselves
Into my skin.
And I thought about it for a while
As we stood there, hand in hand.

I tried to freeze her out,
Extinguish her flame,
For I didn't want to face it.

And before I uttered a word,
I was in Hell as she said,
"You're worth it."
I could say I pondered it or possibly analyzed,
But I didn't because I knew she meant it.

I could tell you we kept in touch but we didn't.
She turned around and walked away.
I did the same,
Those words still burnt into the back of my mind,
As I exchanged my grimace for a long forgotten
Smirk,
A light flickering in my eye.



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