Crawling in my skin,
Internal scars left,
wounds that can never be healed.
Like a rose,
I have many thorns,
but instead of pricking others pale fingertips,
I prick my own,
small and fragile,
I prick at my wrist,
a little game you could say,
to see who looses it first, me or my worn out friends.
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wow ok that was depressing as fuck sorry
