In an abusive house we both desired, I strode through your drunkenness and chops—trying to see the brighter darkness. I would peek at the edge of your finale, grasping my hands around the relief the situation would give. I could stand over the dining table of our cheap abode and hold your head; you should call me a Saint.
Today, after the thousands of lost gleams and the hundreds of open skins, I placed you outside the door before I aimed my finger by the haunted woods; go out and search for your true dark fairy.
I opened the windows to breathe the air you robbed from my lungs and tied the chafed curtains, just so I could see you.
Just so I could finally watch you go.
WORD COUNT: 158
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