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Her Tongue was a Whip and Her Hands the Sea
I've been gnawing off my nails
faster than I learned to chew as a child..
I don't bleed as heavily as I used to,
thick callus has replaced the skin
that's been opened time and time again
after each lashing of your tongue
I was stronger than before.
I choke on the word victim
like strong alcohol spit it up in the bathroom sink
and set aflame like a molotov cocktail; it feels like war in my chest.
I picture her as something unknown to most;
something you run from in nightmares.
In the open, she was nothing to fear,
harmless in front of the eyes of another:
behind closed doors she was a titlewave and
I was always facing the wrong direction..
not a surprise, but I was never expecting.
This isn't finished.. but I can't bear to write it anymore today
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