I forced it. I wedged myself into some small place in such a way that I became a piece of it. Bystanders would have passed by without a hint of curiosity as to what I was. I locked up. I found a comfortable place and curled up there for hours on end until my body could no longer stand to be at rest. It heated up to wake me and I felt fire. I felt clammy warmth that spilled over into my bones and filled my head with boiled blood. All day I wondered why I was loved. I wondered how to be better, how to prune a bonsai tree, how to get away without any cents.
I drank blood red water that filled my body and replaced what I had let leak out in moments of weakness and darkness.
We said it at the same time...in whispers. I held it in hands of steel and clenched my teeth to bite down on the feeling. In the core of my very being I was so sure of a future encrusted in gold. I was so grateful for the feeling of being on top of you in a warm place. I hold you so close and you don't even know it. You don't get it my love. My love made of a tangible mold. You'll never understand how it feels to say the same words so methodically that they come out cracked and dry. I'm fine. It's fine. Don't worry. It's okay. I'm okay.
I'm a piece of work and you are a piece of my many pieces. So broken and so fragmented that putting me back together would be a project of grand proportions. So what's the point? Why do you love me?
and still you are better
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