Open,
Dry.
Bleeding from the inside.
Never
Known
If I would make it.
Anger,
Rushing
& burning as it flows.
Fear,
Loving
Every second it controls.
Pain,
Gripping,
Clawing at my soul.
"This time,"
I said...
Would be the Last.
But that
Promise
Is broken.
Feeding myself,
Pure disgust.
This is hell.
No where to run
But the corners I know;
They're getting tired.
No one to tell
Only those 'people' whom
Don't really matter.
What happens now:
When the reality
Seems stark?
No chance of
Making a
Mark.
This life is shallow.
Going.
Dead.
No one but
Myself
To blame.
It's going,
Gone.
Pain is dying too.
And now,
It's over.
(only this is untrue)
But I wish so much
It wasn't.
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