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I wrung him out like dirty laundry,

I washed his scent off me.

Careful not to wear any of his old jackets.

Already two weeks clean when I get a stain on my mind and the pocket tears a little more; he's moved on.

The stain won't go away no matter how hard I scrub,

the tear won't close no matter how much I try to sew it back together, so I get a new t-shirt.

A cleaner t-shirt that's never been worn.

No holes in the sleeves, no loose threads to accidentally pull.

But this t-shirt is the same brand, it's too cheaply made and the tear gets bigger until I'm standing in front of him wearing nothing but shreds,

vulnerable and naked.


I don't wear t-shirts anymore.

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