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poetry is stacking feelings like you bury them deeper steeper stairs
Day One: This morning I woke up crying I miss you I couldn’t talk to all the well-wishers I couldn’t even talk to my mom I miss you
I can't handle this pain it clouds my eyes I'm going insane waiting for my demise I'm seeing double vision picking apart my skin with great precision a game I cannot win
As time goes by, You stand and ponder, "When will I die?" So you wonder. As you wander through the graveyard, You ask yourself, "Why is life so hard?" You say to oneself.