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It Stings In The Shower

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The only colour I could see was
the red that poured out of my
sliced veins. Eyes rolling back,
at piece, while my blood stained the tub.
Every where I'd turn, my eye was held by the delicacy in pointed objects.

Weeks of red passed, then it became
habit. To make sure I was capible of feeling, I would dig
into my skin, searching for emotion.
True pain no longer existed



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