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tried forsaking you, sought out a foreign tongue as your executioner. I cannot forgive myself, circling amongst the shelves and stacks - lone eagle of regret - one blunt wing; one limp rudder of a stunned remembrance. You took my eyes to the calamities, calling them the sun. I stared until my retinas were scorched and my lungs were bursting with your intense air. There was wonder climbing through your sadness; there was a stern peak of sorrow mounted over your happiness. Where you were cut, I bled. I become the inscribed, thin slice of man, wedged between your nib and the world.
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