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23h · 21
My knife
How do I convince my hand not to
stab me?
Every night i slit my wrists
with the blades they gave me,
I tear my heart open to make it a misery
Death isn’t my muse
Yet it chases my words till i cant breathe
My scars burn with agony
as their words choke me with cruelty
O dear tell me how do I convince my
hand not to stab me?
      
                                            ~pranalee
23h
Nights
May i die in my sleep,
for the words I’ve been told.
Their Blades are stained with my blood.
Harsher words don’t stab me anymore,
But the emptiness does
Before i cut my heart open
I wish they would **** me
While i sleep soundly

— The End —