The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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88. Bruised

I was happy and sad, yet I grew more depressed;

in my time of misery, I was an empty soul to infest.

They left colourful bruises all over my chest

and fluttered inside like my ribcage a nest.

I enjoyed them at first and invited them in,

but little did I know they'd destroy me within.

My veins popped out and I thought they would break,

then took a razor to my flesh, leaving only a mistake.

They invaded my body and called it their own;

then bruised and battered my skin and my bone.

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