#38

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The metallic substance runs free,
Flowling down the skin like a summer breeze.
The cool metal clutched tightly in closed fists,
Thin lines joining the rest, they just fit.
The sting, emancipation like nothing else;
The afterward throb putting the feeling to rest.
No more distraction, a reverberating pain
That courses through the soul once again.
Slicing once more for another distraction,
The knotted ball of pain experiencing a contraction. 

This action repeats night after night,
Not begging for death, striving for life.
"If he wanted to die, he would just commit."
It's not as simple as one's life's counterfeit.
Frightened to cut off the life's supply,
For society has been spreading lies.
Beauty doesn't stem from a gap between the thighs,
It comes from who you are inside.
Due to this, many people hide
Before they're only left with suicide.

-L.H.

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