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This old love is unendurable: its bough breaks in the breeze; its frosted buds crack and splinter; it's a heart stitched to a razor sleeve; its wrists split and bleed and stain like a shadow escaping whilst being illuminated by the moon's swan glow at midnight- she's not simply a marble pebble, we're all midnight's bride, completely sacrificed at the altar, unknowingly perishing. But without it, the naked flesh peels in the rain to reveal an empty centre; he does not know that I love him with no heart.