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Sep 2018
This fear, this anger, this pain
All the thoughts inside my brain
Neither medicine or prayers
Could wash away the stain

I’m too weak to draw the lines
Now I have to pay my fines
It just bottles up inside
You couldn’t see the signs

Now I lay here in my grave
This poor soul you could not save
As I lie here in the ground
To death, I am a slave
LittleMissMochachino
Written by
LittleMissMochachino  17/F/Storybrooke, Maine
(17/F/Storybrooke, Maine)   
120
 
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