Dismantle me.
Dismantle the pumpkin.
Mine?
Yours?
Theirs?
All of them!
We've all eaten the apple,
Burnt the piano,
But it was you,
You who dismantled the pumpkin--
Torn it to shreads.
...torn it in two?
How lovingly ironic.
...you dismantled the pumpkin.
But it was I who built it up.
It was I who created it.
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...I just can't understand why I need this pumpkin.
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No, you know what? The sudden smashing of the only pumpkin I've ever known is/was a fate SO much better than the slow, agonizing shredding that would have otherwise taken place. That's my final decision.
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I feel so suffocated, like my body's stuck in the fight or flight response mode, with no possible way to stop it. I need to get out, but I'm too stuck to move.
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