Fingers.

You are the reason I began to do this.

You were not my first.

You were not my most recent.

But you drove me to write

gushing my thoughts

the tip of my pen burning the pages as I recollected

every aching, self-loathing, miserable feeling I had since you left.

You made me feel worthless.

You filled me with love and then found somebody new.

And now here you are.

Crushed by your love the way you crushed me.

This should feel better than it does.

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