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Ashes

I know what it is like to make people cry, to make my pain theirs like a fire burning bright. I also know the flip-side to be nothing more then burnt up ashes. hiding and praying that no one will find you, afraid to look down but more afraid to look up cringing at every loud noise the light, once bright in my eyes, blown out like a flame the names the pain the humiliation still echo years later and tears still flow hate for my abusers still run in my vanes but to hurt back:
wouldn't that make me the bully too?



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