Pending Title III

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Our song is the sound of nails on a chalkboard
Forever screeching
Our love notes are passive aggressive texts
Sent the day after an argument
Our inside jokes are most painful
Because we are the punchline

I do not know any way to love you
Other than this sadomasochistic system
In which we hurt each other so often
That our clothes are now stained crimson
Wounds torn open so often
That they no longer heal

I always thought of us as a mosaic
Broken pieces of something once whole
Rearranged to create something beautiful
From afar we look put together
But from up close you can see
That we are just jagged shards that don't quite fit like we used to






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