seventy nine
I didn't understand why you were acting as if nothing ever happened. Why were you even in my house?
As if you read my mind, you started moving. You invaded my kitchen—sliced your finger and burnt yourself.
Do you feel how it hurts now? How it throbs? How they keep bleeding?
They're nothing compared to the real wounds. They're nothing compared to the intentional bite of blades and digging of fists.
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