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You’ll be with him, you see.
You’ll be with him, because although I want the best for you
I cannot tell you softly.
My endearments cough themselves up from my belly,
love in the form of splinters and coal.
I can almost feel you wincing to hear them.
You’ll be with him, instead,
because although he doesn’t care,
when he reminds you of your worthlessness
the swears dripping from his lips like honey
taste better than my coal dust compliments.