Seven months since I last cut, Every day seems harder than the last. Longing for that old familiar sting, Feeling like a failure for nearly giving in.
I can't help staring at the rows of scars, Never letting my eyes move away from them, Just like little rivers, flowing into one another, Ugly lines mark the pain I used to feel. Reality is hard to live with. Yet again, it's sometimes hard to keep up this pretence.
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