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You're sorry sounds not worthy of the times you truly hurt me. So I stand outside the body I've decided to reside in.


Most of their whispers sound and sift her judgement into shyness. Samantha lies, she stands and tries to forgive you of your blindness.


You clenched your fists and thrust them into body parts so tiny. Her heart has suffered feelings buffered wrapped in all your violence.


You've taken with you all her quiet childhood dreams in clusters. Never owned them, sought to find them, frightened, tortured, busted.


Could she have tried to sit more silent, died tiny more discreetly? Could she have lied more times, could she have held her shame more sweetly?


You took her light, her hope, her fight, you left her nothing, empty. Beside her strides her lack of pride, our secrets mine completely.


Your sorry sounds not worthy of the times you truly hurt me as your sorry's are as yet to be delived, heard, or seen.

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