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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #983668
We are inferior, but despite that, we delusion ourselves by pretending we are not.
A scar, built upon by a thousand wounds,
Pain, flashing in red blood,
Pounding, aching, and throbbing of the head.
Memories swimming in murky water,
Trying to resurface again.

Laugher, sneers and pointed fingers.
Humiliation, disgrace, and loneliness.
A broken glass, shattering into pieces
Digging deeply, clinging to my heart.

Siren, needles ever so sharp,
Whispers, shouting out loud.
Heavy, numb and weary
Sleep, to erase the moving pictures.

Flashes, memories slipping away,
All alone, only myself,
Walking down a hole.

Alone, ever so alone,
To forget the emptiness.
Block the world out.
Silence.
© Copyright 2005 crivanea (wolftears at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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