internal struggle

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I hold the gun in my handsits pointed towards innocenceI can't control my thoughtswhen and why did it come to this?
Imperfection.   No trace of rapture lingers in torment.She, who cannot love herself,is without peace in mind and body.  
It burns brighter than passion and higher than dreams a red brain, holding so much more than it seems. Beneath its front it boils and bubbles, melting our most hideous troubles. 
There’s scar tissue. On my head, my arms, everywhere and anywhere. Behind every scar a memory, a story. Happy memories, and not so happy memories,
The pain I feel inside is empty and it’s dull and sinking and throbbing
I told myself when I writeeverything
Dear my old friend, I’m sorry I betrayed you; I forgot how to save you. But I promise I’m still here, somewhere…somewhere… I know it’s been a while, but what I’d give to see you smile…
Cloaked by shadows,Enshrouded in mystery,You stalk through the night. The book is open,The fate unwritten,You search for what is right. 
Father give me the humble things Take away my pride For I am Your child Lord And a part of Your Bride. And pride has no place here. Give me no duty that would exalt me high No poem for people to view me by
Lord grant me all the humble things The silly little humble things, The things that no one else will see And no one else will do. Give me the least of these And help, I humbly beg please
Sitting in class, I am the last To leave the room. Taking my test (I know I'm best) Mustn't assume Perfection's mine (I'm doing fine, Savoring now Knowing all things)
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