How is it, that even though
you’ve broken me three times
(oh, that magic number)
I would still go back, given
the chance? Explain that to me.
I’m so tired of this. I hate
hate hate you. And you hardly
remember my name anymore,
I imagine. Hardly remember
my laugh, my eyes, my touch;
but I remember these of yours more
than I remember anything else.
Why don’t you just end it,
and euthanize me? I won’t protest.
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