I would’ve done anything for you
so when you asked me to hold the
smoking match, I did.
Never did I expect you to point
your finger at me for the fires you started.
You weren’t hurt because you lost me
It was because you didn’t expect me to run away
before the flaming tongues licked my skin.
The grave you dug up for me
ended up being all yours
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Poetry Books: Identity Crisis, Rehab