How you’ve rend these pages that you’ve written
A hard earned history, faded film photos
That you’ve crumpled and eaten on impulse
When these words pass through you, the ones you sullied, do they make you sick?
Do you recall signing your name on the dotted line
Writing poems and flowery words
Hundreds of days to convince me that you’re mine
Is your ego satisfied? Are you pleased to have access to phrases I’ve not written in ages?
Life of Rachel 
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