I have been lying to you. I cannot stand on two feet. I
cannot clap with both hands. And I cannot look at you
with both of my eyes. You asked me to come home, still in
love with you. I swore to you with my right hand to god I
will love you the same, if not more. Now that hand is
gone. I love you only half as much. That is the truth, and
not what these doll parts tell you. With one hand I feel the
softness of your cheek. With the other I feel your
uneasiness of cold, hard, plastic pressed on your face.
Through one eye I see the most beautiful woman in the world.
Through the other I see nothing. And you see
yourself in the glossy reflection instead of what I see. I
will walk twice as far for you, just so I can't lie about how
many feet I traveled to reach you. I only ask you forgive
the lies my body tell you.
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