Now, we are even

when you abuse me
what do you think i become?
a wool in water
or a rock beside a stream
that water beats but can’t move?

when you have used me
do i become fit for trash
or kept for re-use
or gloom in the midst of air
dusty like an old book shelf?

when i refuse you
does it hurt like sun on steel?
how deep does it burn?
does your ego fall flat?
does the anger taste different?


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