The love you have for me is masking the impurities I have contaminated our sacred language with. I stretch into my new skin and push you out the door. Don't come back to me, you deserve a kinder love. The irony of it is that you want me as I am, you've always wanted me, no matter which me I'm being. But I only want you when I'm bad. You are my playmate. As much as it saddens you, I know that a part of you likes me mean and rabid. But I like my nest, in my cage too. My heart wavers when you look at me like that, and just as quickly I feel rage crawling along the lines of my face. I feel a pressure betweeen my eyebrows from your thumb reminding me to stop scowling. I wish you wouldn't touch me. But you know I would never push your hands away. I know you love me and I'm sick everytime I feel you trying to fix my broken parts. You don't understand how broken things work, when they heal they are never as they once were. You are too gentle with me and it's time for you to hear the flighty thumps my heart makes in its attempt to escape a love I may never be ready for, not in this life.
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