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Writer's pictureBrianne Chaney

I looked at you

I looked at you

Through the suddenly clear windows

in the middle of your canvased face.

I saw broken things,

shattered pieces of the you

that you'd once created.

Some of your messes were painted

in unfamiliar fingerprints.

But some were undoubtedly an inside job.


And for the first time,

I quietly put all of my tools away,

Because I have finally learned 

that I cannot fix a man who is destroying himself. 

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