The Philosopher's Hymen

I'll cut you off. It'll be easy.

Like a wart from flesh, though not as fresh,

I relish the day that you confess,


As I step on stage, wearing the very same dress,

I wore that day when you professed,

You liked me better wearing less,


The court will cheer and cry out "Yes!"

And I'll be free from my distress,

My mortal torture without rest,


And finally, I won't be such a mess.

And still, there's one thing I must ask:

Would this really make me happy?

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