September 27, 2016
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Sometimes I feel Divergent
Like I don’t belong anywhere
I’m the thorns on the rose bush
I’m like my own Bubonic Plague
I’m slowly turning myself cold
Turning myself black
Soon, I will be dead
And the only way to get rid of my sorrow will be to burn me
For me to be forgotten
So no one will have to endure the suffering
The sorrow
The sleepless nights
The bleeding wrists
They’ll burn my flesh to get rid of any risks
Any risks of me sharing this plague of sadness
But you would never know any of this
I will walk around with my head down
I will smile if you ask me how I am doing
But in all reality, I’m not okay and I feel like dying
No one will know of the hazard mask I wear
Trying to keep this deadly sorrow to myself

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