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she chose to be lonely in a world full of people, they gave up trying for her. she hardened her heart to the pins and needles of pressure, but went soft for the small moments of freedom. she drew herself with a knife, as a hobby, for nothing more than to be. guilt of nothing and everything haunted her, alone in the night, she waited for no one. stabbed once in the back, she can never forget the blade.
with her sword, she sliced them, left bleeding for none to see.
