Sober

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🚧 vent about sh 🚧

As a year turns to a day the somberness of my stare Peirce's my own eyes as I stare at my reflection.
I'm loosing my sobriety.
My plasters hide inside the box.
Tucked away.
2 left from what used to be 4
It graced my skin with a sting that bit the tears.
Covering it up was the only option.
A year turned a day.
Sobriety gone.
No longer was I sober. free of my emotions? NO. I was bound to them bound to their torture.
Their reminder.
Their grace set me free but left me with a sting as I fight for my beliefs.
They want to take my rights. My freedom.
The stinging of their visit upon my thighs don't stay long.
The only reason I stay is because I'm what's keeping the chain reaction from continuing to slip...
By not starting it.

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