Living In Death.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Maybe this addition IS life.

Submitted: September 09, 2012

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Submitted: September 09, 2012

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These scars are different from a fall in the park,

They represent a past wich I can not change,

They have memories of pain etched between them.

My skin was so soft,

Innocent as a childs,

Until the day in wich I tried to fix myself.

I can not attain the power in wich to correct these mistakes,

The power i need to live without dying every day.

When every breath feels like my last.

And this need is so great,

This need to create more memories upon my flesh..

This addiction in wich I cannot escae.

Help me.

HEAL me.

DO YOU KNOW NOT WHAT IM DOING TO MYSELF!

ARE YOU SO IGNORANT?!

Theres is not a day in wich goes by that I do not think about it.

About the beautiful feeling of pain.

Of hatred.

Of Death.

but yet,

A part of me doesn't want to escape,

A part of me wants to keep living to die,

EVERY DAY.

I LIKE THE PAIN!

I LIKE THE HURT,

and most of all.

I like the memories.

So I don't forget,

What kept me living in death so long.


© Copyright 2018 Lydia Moon. All rights reserved.

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