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June 1992

is a heart
torn apart
until there is nothing left
but shreds of muscle tissue
and a pool of blood

This poem was written in the spring of my grade 9 year, when I was prone to extreme depression and yes, I didn't much care for the idea of love. I thought I was in love, but I was wrong. I know that now, but as for then I was pretty cynical about the whole thing.

return from whence you came