if I were yours, you could find your pride somewhere, slimy, dark red, and throbbing between my legs. You could steal it back from me,
kill me just a little, just once, not so much that I can't recover; just enough so that I don't forget, and I'd be a new woman. I'd be hungry and hungover, I'd sit with you in the bad dream on the bed we shared when you loved me,
where your fire was once daylit and kind
I am not yours.
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