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Split
split,
by the blade of hurt,
cutting through the
diseased skin of me.
Foulness surrounding
the wound where
my blood pours out
onto my paper,
pain only making
my wits quicker.
A sorry soul that
writes the feelings
that go unexpressed,
controlling the last
resort of actions.
Mutilating the mind,
creating a cause
that will result in an effect.