only a thought

February 8, 2011
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I throw and swing my fist within the air hoping something will shatter.
only nothing does.
nothing breaks and nothing is forced away from my ever so falling hands.
until contact, striking pain. but not enough to notice.
blood, glass, cold seeping wounds once full of warmth.
now red, no not just red. a deep red, liquid seeping from my hands. my arms
covering the floor where I now sit.
still and not moving, staring into the broken pieces upon the ground.
my reflection goes unnoticed by ones self. so different
not recognized at all.
But what's left to fight for,
I know it's not myself. No hope, no love, not a care in the world.
Alone, that's where I sit. alone that's where I'll stay.
because that's where I know I'm safe.
safe from the world , safe from hurt.
Death, that's what is thought, but never thoroughly planned.

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