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The filmstrip repeats
Over and over through his eyes
Until he gages the ruin
In nanoseconds to weeks
Hearing you challenge
Your sincerity in every frame;
The pulp of your voice
Overturning the situation itself
When he prostituted his trust to you
Like on a restaurant 
Customer service card
You check-marked poor -
No tip this time -
The depression will
Keep you off the streets.