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When you leave, do take my broken heart with you;

The shards will only hurt me more deeply than you have already;

I’ve no use for broken things, but as you seem to keep a hobby of it,


I insist,

Take it as a souvenir;

Take it to prove that it was you who broke me,

Tamed the beast,

Tied it down,

And shot it where it lie;

Take it!

I’ve no more use for my broken heart than you do anymore for me.

Patch it up for your armoire with that sticky attitude you keep.

The attitude you keep along with the company you make ridiculous.

But why am I, the fool, to be ridiculed when a wayward villain is praised?

Show me the justice;

You could no more convince me of your soul’s existence than I could now convince myself of my soul’s contentment.

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