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Save Me

My life.
Made with a knife.
And a blade.
I have it made.
Living in seclusion.
My happiness going through the process of diffusion.
 
This night, cold and dreary.
My mind slowly becoming weary.
The faint light originating from the vivid moon.
Shining onto this tall, glistening snow dune.
 
I look out my clear window to the various stars inhabiting the dark sky.
I would love to visit them with the power to fly.
I spot a shooting star, make a wish.
I wish for Krish.
 
I survive in this baggy sweatshirt reading “Mission Lumber”.
In it, I shall begin my eternal slumber.
I yearn for death now.
You caused it, take a bow.
 
My legs, pale and lifeless.
Highly concentrated with lipids, nevertheless.
The red, swelled scars.
I must get this shit up to par.
 
I pick up my rectangular blade.
With it in my hand, I have prayed.
Prayed for life.
Prayed to be someone’s wife.
 
The blood leaks from my fragile wounds.
They will swell soon.
This ambiance of pain.
I cannot be imminent to sane.
 
I oblige help.
Help to save me from myself.
Before I attempt again.
Again and again.

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