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April 23 2015

You stare at her words. The last words that call out for you. Over and over again you wish you could reply but pride always gets the better of us doesn't it...the tears swell up in your eyes and anger at the same time. You wish she were gone. You wish she never existed, because you're tormented by the image of her. The guilt swallows you up every night, feeling the empty shell of the being you are. Not a man, but a coward. You think of her always, thinking of her as the innocence you once held in your hands. The innocent you corrupted. But the clock in your head ticks and ticks reminding you you're getting old but she remains in her youth.  But every night before you lay your head you re-read her last words as a tormenting poem that swirls in your head being carried out by your current to your heart, every night you read my last words.
— F.F.
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