They were wrong
its a constant battle between
whose right and whose deep
whose on edge and whose at sleep.
i considered what it would take
to make me bleed again
and i wondered if i could ever
sleep again
knowing what i did to ring it in
its what i do:
cut the strings
before they cut my
rings
like ringlets
soft brown ringlets
of an innocent little girl,
those ceiling fans that ruined her
and how they bruised her
what i would do
to get another taste of sugar
but when i look in the mirror
id rather cut my craving
by the lb
hoping soon the magazines will love me
its a war
fighting the urges that will take me
to the floor
and what i would do for a cure
another boy to add to the list
keep it in your back pocket
and regret it with an iron fist
because people will always think less
would they believe you
if you tried to reason?
if you explained that it hurt you too?
but you're always alone.
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