he takes what i give while i take all that's his. i sometimes suspect he knows what's going on, i bet he has his presumptions, but they're all wiped out after my hand hits his cheek. all i pretend to live is all i am to him after the doors are locked and the windows are shut and the curtains fall. i admit i was a bit nervous last time, afraid to
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so i was right, my blood is black indeed. it's been inside way too long, laying still beneath my skin, filling my veins, but neglecting my need for oxygen, &so on. goodbye left arm, so long,
yes doctor it hurts. am i perfectly healthy, he asks. look at me, what do you think. what do you recommend. get me out of here. the bleeding boys in the waiting room need you more than i
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