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A Dead Rose To Some
I'm forced to stare.
Stare at myself.
At my reflection.
I see dark lines,
circling my eyes.
I look down at my wrists,
covered in scars.
My fingernails, covered in black.
Bitten down to my finger.
I look back at the mirror.
Why?
Why do people stare?
Do they think I'm going to hurt them?
Just because I'm different?
Just because I am who I am?
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Favorite Quote:
"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, then its yours."