Can I scratch you from my brain?
With my nails the dirty deeds.
Will your image ever go away?
I'm tired of your face and
losing my sense of relief.
Peel back this rotting skin
to find what's beneath
Remnants of the thoughts of
how you might need me, you see,
my knees will surely get dirty but
I still might just beg you to leave me.
Here I am at the end of your rope
and the chair underneath is breaking
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