The DaysA Poem by t.m.
I have hated myself
But never like this Everything is so wrong It makes me sick. The result of it Helps me survive But I am not living And I'd much rather die. I numb myself every time, But afterwards I'm left dirty and trying, Lost inside and crying. Slipping through mud And dirt The end goal when I get home Is to stop the hurt. © 2016 t.m.Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on March 14, 2016 Last Updated on March 14, 2016 |

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