We are the ones shot down day after day forced to tip-toe around our own shattered remains. Reality surrounds us. Holding us in its painful grasp. Never daring to let us go and give us a chance to breathe. Forcing us to watch as the best parts of ourselves go unnoticed by everyone we come in contact with. It whispers in our ear how much we truly don't matter to the world. And as we stumble about to fall it gives us that last push. That last punch in the face, that last crude whisper, until we finally shatter completely. As soon as we're gone they say how lovely we were. They finally realized the best parts of us no one noticed before. Too bad it's too late.

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