At Wit's End

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Gave you a chance, and a second and a third

Obstinance, which you come by so readily, is not a value

And my patience lies in shards upon the ground, you shattered it

Why? I ask myself as it crunches, breaks, cuts

And you: oblivious to my sticky, bleeding feet, my suffering

You: I gave you a chance, and a second and a third.

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