Taunt

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I stand on the edge
And beg him to push me
But he stands there with strings
Attatched to my hands
Taunting me with the idea of
A quicker way to let go of him
He whispers "I'm sorry"
Into my ear
A thousand times
And the truth is
This never ending game
Of teetering on the border
Is more painful than
Jumping.

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