7:55 P.M.

It’s the rush of it all; it moves like a quake.

I killed the old me,

I shot it with spite.

And smothered it with love

hated for the secrets.

And knowing I cant keep it

meaning sanity, I’m losing it.

All to gain me again, and choosing me.

In the self-love, I’ll go on a self-murder spree.

 

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