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scarsthese scars of mine will always hant me.
keeping me in the past.
changing my every move.
they will torcher me though out my days.
painfull reminders of what i have done wrong.
reminding me of my sarrow.
they are the little things that make up me.
make me who i am.
form me into a better person.
these scars may punish me.
but they revive my sole as well.
healing me from pain and dispare.
angelyou played me like i was a game.
just wiating to win me over.
so you could throw me away and be done with me.
tose me in the trash.
and you never looked back.
as i weeped in sarrow.
you left me in the dirt.
broken and cold.
never to be found.
but there was a glimer of hope.
an angel in the blackness.
someone there to pull me out of my missery.
my world is still dim and black.
but there is hope for a new and beter day.
a day were that angel saves me.
rescuses me from this insanity.
to bring me into the light.
and save my world from destruction.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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