her earth's fifth poem

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i didn't cut deep

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i didn't cut deep.
but i still feel myself bleeding to death from the wrists and the ankles.
my veins are still pumping out low spirits,
but no ghost died from suicide.
my face is frozen thoroughly with ice cubes lodged in my eyeballs to turn them blue rather than hazel.
at least my veins are blue.
at least my ghost is blue
even if it did become alive by a broken mirror.

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