I'm always there for my friends.
Or even just random people
But sometimes I get tired of helping
And I think why does no one help me
Why am I different
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoetryThe stinging burn of the water from my fresh cuts. The hot salty liquid streaming down my red hot cheeks. The times I am in so much pain that I can't even cry anymore.
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I'm always there for my friends.
Or even just random people
But sometimes I get tired of helping
And I think why does no one help me
Why am I different
