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Your ink was spilled
over my page
Dripping down the lines,
soaking through the layers.
I tried to blot it away...
But I was too late.
You had it cleaned up
before I could even try-
Leaving, not even a trace.
Not that I wanted a blank canvas,
untouched by human sentiments.
I just deperately wanted
to wash it away,
for the satisfaction of breaking a heart-
Rather than having one broken.
Instead,
I raced you in vain....
Losing the chance to enjoy
your presence,
while it did remain.
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