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for the suffering Before, people broke your spirits on a whim, Not a care about the torn heart of yours ripped by them. Throwing cruelty until you bled, Stripping off your worth; left better off dead. Before, you settled for the touch of hands with razorblades for nails, The warmth of a burning need to dominate your goodness, To push you down where they coud watch you shrivel Into a lack of self, into utter nothingnes. I clean your wounds, as I've cleaned millions before. I let your blood stain my skin. At least I have you here with me, So we can fill eachother's void, and be made whole once again. -SnubReality
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