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You look into the mirror.
The eyes of a woman return your gaze.
Lines trace an abstract form
upon an otherwise flawless face.
An apple rests innocently beside you.
You take it, look at it, steal one bite.
It's cold and it splinters in your mouth,
grazing your throat. Such pain.
Yet your expression in the glass looks the same.
How can this be? Perhaps the pain was missing.
Perhaps it was always missing.You walk away,
accepting the blame. Looking at the apple again.
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