The Saddness.

I know you’re not in love with me, you don’t have to speak. Maybe it’s the comfort you seek that you haven’t really seen. The sort of trying that breaks my mind. As my heart is pressed into teas and scents. Colonized for a so-called victimless crime. You tell me to breathe. I feel that it might be my last. I am peeling myself from you. What else do you expect me to do?

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