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Uncontrollable
Sitting here starring at my wrist
fighting hard to resist.
The scars haven't gone
my urge never withdrawn.
A sense of relief
Pain only brief.
Adrenaline pulsating through my veins,
the act deemed as profane.
The feeling of ecstasy
as I cut ever so deeply.
I as myself why?
I'm not ready to say goodbye.
Then comes the moment of realisation
Streaming of crimson.
… A cyclical cycle
an action ever so dreadful.
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