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I’m in love with the Butcher.

What are you doing to me?
 
I am immature, you say, while others state the opposed
You’re the reason I am like this,
You’re my weakness.
 
You find ways of crawling under my skin
Saying the things that cut the deepest,
But here I am in your arms tonight.
You’ll tell me you hate me, and I believe you
You’ll tell me you love me, and I believe that too.
I don’t know what to believe anymore.
Perhaps I’m gullible, but...
Here I am
Holding the hand
Of the one who holds the butcher’s knife
The knives you drew through my heart that night.

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