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and some of us are slaves in our own lives i read once but i always feel like i'm a slave in yours ridiculed and beaten for pleasure tied up tied down bound with barbed wire as you laugh with delight at the knots you created i'm tangled and twisted and my guts feel like a coiled gordian snake ready to be cut by a wakizashi and will you act as my second in this matter will you do me the privilege and honor of taking the killing blow job will you do the work necessary to make sure i find the relief and succour in death that i never once possessed in life will you take your loose strands of hair from my bed will you cut all the ties you once held me with and will you finally leave me to rest in peace in pieces picking emotional shrapnel from my skin and muscles will you visit my grave and will you bring flowers like i once brought to you will you remember all the times you smiled at me and every good thing i did for you and will you remember me because i have to forget this and leave it and you behind i have to condemn you from my memories i have to banish you to the wintry lands beyond my apprehension beyond my fears and recollection of baseball cards and caresses of kissing on rooftops and laughing in casinos of drunken nights on the couch and waking up with your arms pulling me into you and we're all slaves in our own lives and there is no escape no transcendence no relief except breaking the chains there is no happiness in slavery and while i may have once thought it was possible now my only recourse is killing the person you claimed to have fallen in love with and reinvent the fragments piecing them together with tape wire and glue i have to recreate and restructure my present my past my future my desires and memories i have to be procrustes and shape my mind to a form i find more pleasing to a form i can find in my head again

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Last modified on Wednesday, March 26, 2008