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I am an iron maiden

of thorns.

I am still bleeding from intentions that you carved into my back.

You liked me low enough to step on my bones,

you liked to drown me.

You once told me we were lost together,

but whenever I took the time to find my way,

you held out your foot without warning

and I tripped over it.

You liked me angry,

bruised, and empty.

You liked me slouched,

you liked me closer to the dirt.

You liked me weary.

You liked me thinking in wrong directions.

You liked me miscalculating the distance

between being better and being worse.

You liked me shattered.

You liked me low.

You like me less now than you did

when I had forgotten that I had the ability to rise.

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