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here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed
I am two men
one
deeply in love
the other
deeply in loathe
my body is not just a container
for the heart
which you once had
just cause you feel it
doesn’t mean it’s there
I turn my back
and
all i see is
ruin
exhaustion
the aftermath of making love
all I had is finally
lost
they say,
where there exist a first
a second will always come
well,
dead men tell no tales
and
old wives will always tell lies

how did my tender heart
grow so
hard