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By SmartMoron, Aurora, CO

His hands...were like fire.
The marks across her face like the burn.
She hadn't so much as uttered a single word
And yet felt the sounds of an impenetrable scream.
Deep inside her
There was a storm,
But her little boat kept upright
Every time he said...
Those three little words
That made her feel so little.
Those three little words...that can't be heard.
The plead for a second, a third
Chance at redemption because
"I'm sorry" will always cut it.
Even when his knuckles bleed ashes
And she's gone,
Even when she's scarred for life
By the burns of his
Boxing her into this box of a world,

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