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My bullets

A covered up, sick, and truely ugly girl.
I pelt myself with rain from the untrue roumers.
I self disapline and try to mold myself into a beautiful person.
Pain just passes through like I'm a ghost in the halls.
A shot here and there does not penatrate through my skin.
A tight drawn string on a bag that never will open.
A recoiled statue of a snake.
Im a retired old soul.





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