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Who do you know to be loyal? |
| My eyes can’t tear away from looking at your back Hundreds of thousands of knives Each with their own serrated blade, buried deep Blood slowly seeping into your skin, into your scars, and down your leg My mouth clenches shut, as to not let out any screams of embarrassment Its not like anything would come out anyway. The cork stuck in my throat is labeled Shame. Every knife in your back has my name on it. |