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Quentin House Jan 2015
As I lace at my skin, delicate and soft.
It spreads with ease, making me clench my teeth.
As the crimson flows away
Just like my life, both released with a knife.
Now I lay; waiting for my judgement day.
This is a poem, that came unto me during my times of major depression, and when poetry seemed like the only thing to save me.

— The End —