As I watched my white right hand, I can't help but felling bliss imagining if it's filled with scratches and reds of bloods. It would be beautiful.
Let me go
Sometimes I do wish I don't have people who cared for me and just let me go. So I don't have to keep fighting and live in this constant struggle of depression and heightened emotion. What do I get from it? Wisdom? For who? Strength to keep being alive in constant agony?
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