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poetic onslaught
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im not falling; im fallen, crawling on the ground. im stalling; stalled and calling to be found. i cant proceed, so i sit and bleed until my need to live is gone. myself im killing, slowly peeling away feeling, to move on. i must die to forget my past, those memories must be forgotten. they say good things never last, i tried to keep it and this ive gotten; memories distorted and good times aborted. my soul is stained from the blood i drained to try to have my life regained. stained and staining still until i kill it, then ill be reborn. the stain wont grow any more but will be something like a thorn. poking, reminding, and eventually make my new life a scorn.
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020926
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