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Darkness
You’re a poacher to your own self,
You try to cut off your wrists
And sell them to the devil
Just for a little rush of emotion.
Breathing in your exhales,
Unable to survive this
Constant chase of contradiction,
You are all seven deadly sins
Wrapped up within your
Hideous, gray, gasping lungs.
You say goodbye
And wish you could die.
I wish I could help you.
Goodbye.

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