Eighteen years showed me how to be kind,
Too gentle to need anything from anybody,
Too fraile to cry.
But now I feel like rescinding, cancelling the curiosity and hope. 
I can feel your sleight of hand failing as you resort to tumultuous tasks.

Obviously your life couldn't move on without being in mine,
So tell me,
Have you come to reap?
Or hide behind facades.
 
Lucky for you I'll give you what you want. 
But it will be you who pays the price for my poetry.

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