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My Song
My arm's a violin,
my blade the bow,
as I play my song of shame

I want to stop,
but know I can't.
I'm tired of playing this game.
Every night I go to bed
and cry myself to sleep.

I dream of death,
I dream so sad,
I dream of cuts too deep.

And when I wake
I always wish
I'd go to sleep for good.

Because I know that I want out,
but don't know if I could.

Written by zoeyeatworld   View profile zoeyeatworld
like this?more poems by author
Published 10th February 2013 7:18am  
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