I am in a box.
the lids
sealed
shut.
There is blood.
my poor
sore
wrists.
I hate tears.
on an ice
cold
cheek.
But why?
he still
does this
to me?
i see dirt.
his white
sad
face.
we know nothing.'s
going to
make this
perfect.
I listen.
You direct.
I do.
You don't.
a match
made
from
heaven.
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