There is something in the way
That I still miss the cold comfort
Of your disdain of your ridicule
Of the gentle caress of your raptor words

There is something in the way
That they cut right through to the quick
Eager bloody beak pecking away the soul
Devouring every last screaming morsel of my sanity

There is something in the way
That I still miss the condescending cruelty
The tenderness of your hatred and mockery

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