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By: moridori

growing up, dying quick

why speak when you don't know what to say
why write when its words you don't like
then why sing a stupid song
take a fucking swing
leave me to myself its been done before
as quick as the blow
responsibility reaches
and self hatred reaches
and medication reaches
and despair reaches
and anger it reaches
many arms come from under me breaking a small glass
once a clear cup unfilled now stained with time
what you left unfinished...
you blew it
the wind wont carry these pieces