trigger warning: cutting

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I pressed my pen to the paper, realizing it could cut deeper than any blade, and the words flowed faster and thicker with emotion, faster and thicker than blood ever could from my wrist
good poems dont come from your head they come from your hands they are words flowing from the blood of our wrists the stains of the past broken memories
all of the days when you wanted to hide all of the times when you made mistakes all of the moments when you hated what lived inside all of the nights when your heart finally breaks
Three semesters ago I was assigned a poem for an English grade I was excited because I write I write often I write fluidly   But I found that, when I had to I could not write at all  
You don't need more food... You should probably get a small... You should go for a walk... You should cover your stomach... Why aren't you speaking to me? Why do you always sleep?
Cut
*snap* Severed ends of a good mood *snip* They walk out of sight and out of life *rip* Your carefully assembled resolve dissolves
The blade runs across your skin, cutting deep into your soulYou ponder, lost in thought You ask yourself, "why am I doing this?"You hate the feeling, cringe as you drag the blade
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