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Each night I paint pictures of my pain,
With blood drawn from the cracks of my bleeding heart.
Today you’ve come face to face with my art collection,
I would ask but I can tell by your facial expression,
That you have questions too.

So we stay silent, admiring creativity,
Every stroke, every curve, every slight variation in colour intensity.
You pretend that all of this would go away,
Like my predicament wasn’t clear as day.
Until I wake you up before daybreak only to ask;
If you preferred the bright red puppy
Or the brutally aborted maroon baby?

– why are you leaving in such a hurry? It’s for free love.

A.

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