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The complete desperation that I feel inside;
I'm separated: from the world I do hide.
The hurt from these cuts, they don't cover my fears,
just leave ugly scars, a trace of my tears.
The lack of affection that I feel each day,
throws me deeper, deeper, deeper away.
A wallowing form, just a shade of what was;
but nobody cares. No one ever does.
The empty feeling I get when I'm done,
the stains I clean up from the blood that did run,
the awful realization that I'm almost gone:
I'm more alone now then I ever thought.
The superfluous blame game:
who should I pick?
Who should I say made me like this?
So many to choose from,
yet, it can only be one.
I'm to be scorned for the things that I've done.
God turned the page: my scars are just scars.
The selfishness I fought with is now behind bars.
Standing up tall, not alone, nor afraid;
I don't have to worry: I've been saved from that grave.