Hands curled into hooks,
grasping onto the small ledge,
now ready for help.
People say i should talk about it,
that i should'nt hide my pain.
That i need to channel all my deamons,
into ink and workd on page.
How can i even spell a word,
to begin to illustrate hate.
How can i use white paper,
when pink fleash wont contain my rage,
I use my skin to tell a tale,
of the pain that i cant speak.
but even this is of no help,
when the pain reaches its peak.
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