Little cuts on my wrist
The soft underside
The back, less yielding
One two three
Every time we talk
clean slate
wouldn’t work out
better this way
What do you expect?
The pain to loosen my hold on you?
So much easier to back away
Needle thin paper cuts
What you don’t realize, darling, is
These little nicks –
They add up over time
Already you’re down to the bone
And I haven’t let go
I won’t let go
A part of me goes with you when you go
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