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i can almost feel you trying to erase me, but i promise you that this ink is permanent, and we had pressed too hard with the pen that we wrote our story with,
and no matter how many pages you tear out of your notebook,
my impressions will still be there.
x.
how many times
have you slept in her bed?
how many nights have you woken
wishing she weren't in your head?
do you love her? do you love her?

tell me, don't you wish you were dead?
just use me when you're lonely;
call me your one and only.
i want to be misled.

all wounds bleed red.
but tell me, do you love her?
nov 7, 2014

— The End —