The end of my sorrows

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i write just to hurt you, sometimes.
as if every single word
could mutate
in big sharped knives
and cut you deep inside.

and the ink that spills
and stains the paper
i’m writing in
could be your blood
making my pain all worthed.

if my wishes
could come true
i swear i would be free…

your white skin
would bleed forever…
and wash away
the troubles you put me in.

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