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"He's doing it again,"
I heard them all say.
My habits weren't my pride,
But it's still the only comfort I had at the end of the day.
Rituals to be repeated every waking hour,
And it had to be hidden for no eyes to see.
I wasn't particularly happy or sad,
Feelings were but a bitter memory.
One terrible thought crept into my mind,
And I felt like I was losing control.
I reminded myself that it was only a dream,
But the idea of reality decimated my soul.
It is too late to turn back,
Lengthy, charred roads lie ahead.
Change is something I should consider,
This pain just causes too much dread.
Hysteria controls my shell of a body,
Quick to crumble under the weight of oppression.
I will be who I was meant to be,
And nothing you ever say or do will change this aggression.
Whether I'm influenced by poison,
Shattered to the bone,
Or scarred by a diseased world.
My words are still my own.
Who am I to question life?
Some wounds can never mend.
In the most unsettling of times,
I still choose how the day will end.
I am always in control,