Poetry.
“...it’s our strings that have been broken. Pulled apart. Cut. Torn.
We were just puppets. But does that mean we did not love?
We care, I cared, but it wasn’t enough.
It hurt me, tore me, burned my throat like acid.
The taste was so sweet..."
We were just puppets. But does that mean we did not love?
We care, I cared, but it wasn’t enough.
It hurt me, tore me, burned my throat like acid.
The taste was so sweet..."
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