How am I to be repaired when only I do the repairing?
How do I stop the feel I've never felt before?
Look up to the sky and who do I shed my rain on?
I'd weep on a shoulder but everyone's shoulder is full, filthy with acid.
I have no one to turn to and I'm afraid if I turn around,
The realization of my emptiness will asphyxiate me more than my tightened throat.
Every set of visuals I set forth is an untrustworthy foe.
And all the rest don't have the strength to lift me to safety.
For once, could there ever be a time where it's ok to rely on someone else's tourniquet other than my own without regret of failure?
I ask to be reassured anew and not feel the old blotched clots.
Because I can't do this anymore.
For I am but a child forced into adulthood,
All alone with nothing to prove.
I only know of one species to love me unconditionally,
And yet that has been stolen from me.
I slap myself in the face,
And prepare for the next day of self ridicule.
Because in reality, it doesn't matter.
I've made my bed,
Now I have to lie in it.
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