get out

it would be so easy to hate myself for not being able to walk away from you, but i refuse to allow you that kind  of power over me. so i struggle, breaking my back, placing every brutally heavy, jagged stone back up and around the memory of you, with my bloodied and bruised fingers, as a barrier; to my feelings and so that i can keep you contained in the mucky bog of a fetid pig sty, where you should be.

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