Tue, 05/12/2020 - 21:15 -- nobbaym

Every so often,

I cut my bangs before I even give them the chance to grow 

I move around the decorations in my room but never throw anything away

I listen to that song you played for me even though it makes me sad 

I write with the pen you gave me for my birthday just to feel something you touched 

I close my eyes and remember what I have tried so hard to forget. 


I keep going in cycles with you and it makes me sick. 

This poem is about: 


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