The Rain On Monday

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

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49. For You

The blood from my wrist couldn’t amount to the blood from my heart, filling buckets, all for you.

The pain from their words couldn’t amount to the pain from my wounds, filling buckets, all for you.

The poison from my thoughts couldn’t amount to the poison from my stomach, filling buckets, all for you.

The sting from their laughs couldn’t amount to the sting from my eyes, filling buckets, all for you.

The apathy from their lies couldn’t amount to the apathy from my bones, filling buckets, all for you.

The hate from their mouths couldn’t amount to the hate from my mirror, filling buckets, wishing this wasn’t all for you.

 

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