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#mutate
How far will you go To get labelled as a giver, Till there's nothing left to give And you mutate into a taker.
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Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 6:16 AM UTC
Mutate
things are going to be grey breathing tar inside created nights without a sunrise innocence breeds hopelessness in this world   don't cry your pains in order to foster their intensity dark things spoken will play around the mind like children they scream and curdle throughout the night chilling sensations wrap around while they mutate greedy lungs withhold oxygen their offspring drain the logic from reality last breaths taken care for the innocent evils that live within we don't lie for ourselves when we begin to give life to those living inside our head it's nothing but negative metamorphisis
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May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
ballroom deaths of your youth
You seem to hurt my heart,                                                           Repetitively,                                                                                   and the doctors say:                                                                                                              "They can’t bandage a word broken heart,"    "When the bandage won’t  be able to fix me,"                               This is when my body mutates, Making it hard to breath ,                                                     Or really do anything, This is when,             My ribs,                                                        wrap around my heart, trying to protect it from you,                                                                              and while my lungs were unprotected, and I was at a lack of breath,                                                            you seemed to take that, with any happiness you could find,                 And I sat there,         Shaking, Then,                                                                           Crying because it’s not even first period
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Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Panic Attacks
You seem to hurt my heart,                                                           Repetitively,                                                                                   and the doctors say:                                                                                                              "They can’t bandage a word broken heart,"    "When the bandage won’t  be able to fix me,"                               This is when my body mutates, Making it hard to breath ,                                                     Or really do anything, This is when,             My ribs,                                                        wrap around my heart, trying to protect it from you,                                                                              and while my lungs were unprotected, and I was at a lack of breath,                                                            you seemed to take that, with any happiness you could find,                 And I sat there,         Shaking, Then,                                                                           Crying because it’s not even first period
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