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picking up my pencil,

i began to write.

and write.

my heart was bleeding

down my arms,

down, into my fingers.

my jumbled thoughts were

words that formed

a grey mess of lead blood.

all over the pages.

i couldn’t stop the bleeding;

inside and outside.

nowhere and everywhere.

i wrote and i wrote

until there was nothing left in me.

nothing,

except a clean slate.

ready to be rewritten on.




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