Break, breaking, broken.
Ivory turns to rose.
Tiny vessels blossom beneath.
Raised ridges of release.
Instant self-hatred.
Momentary regret.
Endless pity.
Please don't hate me.
Please don't ever feel the way I feel.
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About Me
- âme en feu
- I write because it's something I don't need to do, but can pass off as productive. Oh and I rather enjoy it.
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