Can I Die
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Aug 22, 2016
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Poetry
Not everyone was born to get hurt and bleed, not every bone was put not to crack and break, not every breed is iron and steel, not every cut was meant to heal. So we capture those moments in ourselves of happiness and place them in crimson soked sheets. we cover ourselves from the eyes that never sees. putting up brick by brick and plaster our bodies with personas and cloths to hide our true skin, not the skin we were bone with, the skin they made us live in.
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WARNING: Some pieces may contain triggers for those who struggle with any form of depression or self harm. Please read with caution. I will often rearrange the chapters in the way I see fit, so please be patient and keep that in mind. This is my first attempt at poetry. It will consist of shit that I've gone through/dealt with and ramblings from my screwed up mind. These works are purely fictional and not meant to be taken literally.

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