In this time and space, loss it is, bleeding uncontrollably with these wounds that tore underneath the skin, I feel blessed with the pain as each drip poured.
Sulking in bed, my pillows knew how much I lost, every stain shed a cost, pain is vanity yet it hurts a whole lot. 
If you listen to the opinion of others, you loose conserving yours. 
Never thought I’d say this, but am glad to know this, but I question is it really this?

You sound like someone else speaking behind you voice, death is instant but other things don’t die, the either fade away or remain the same, in rare cases they even grow. 


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