-
i sat there for the hundreth time
on my hand, a glass of sweet syrup
thick, sticky, disgustingly sweet

i always stop myself before i begin
but the intimacy with loneliness
was confusing me

a stroke of your hand,
ruined me
again, sat beside me again
ruin me

and as i looked at him
in the corner of my eyes,
i have yet, nothing to say
but to my heart; "stop it. stop"

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