It's Not All

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I can't imagine ... _________.

I can't process.
I can only look at the ruble of walls that were broken down with sincerity. I can only rub my itchy palms, that want nothing more than to start building again, on the sides of my legs. I can only taste the blood from biting back frustrated whispers. I can only watch hands made of metal shuffle slowly over numbers, again and again.

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