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Rated: GC · Non-fiction · Biographical · #2299272
an attempt at writing something with my emotions.
The white walls. The black book.
The tearful drops on a lovely face.
The crystal chandelair falls from the ceiling,
crashing into the carpet forever not.
A melancholy smile from which pain could be felt.
I opened my eyes and saw a rope NOT meant for me.
I never felt so alone with myself, falling to my knees.
Misanthropy beneath the skin of the lonely.
I felt the cold on my skin, yet the warmth of a chocolate brown coat.
The snow falling from the sky.
Looking through the frosty windows of a broken home.
The shape of my anger forms the iridium star.
The death i hoped for cannot be,
the pain would be too much.
I remain to suffer, as it should be.
In spite of all the love,
i feel so alone.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
A tattered soul, worn out already at a young age.
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