Dear Austin

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I hate you

I hate her

I hate everything.

What's wrong with me?

Am I not pretty enough?

Am I too ugly?

You helped me

You said you would be there for me

Where are you now

When I sit alone in my room?

In the corner of my bed

with the blade of steal

pressed to my wrist.

Where are you then?

(j.s)

j.s poetryWhere stories live. Discover now