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{"Corrupted abandonment issues
 swathe me as a probable hazard, and I remain far from sane, I coat over my sentiments and violate the evidence so nonentity would find the remnants of my body, 
I am the daughter, I evolved into a child who doesn’t desire for anybody to love her against their will. 
You are out of my life, and now the vast remains of me are gone without a fight; fled from the inside out, away from the crime scenes in which I have kept contaminated my whole life, my misfortune, my anguish, my allegiance. 
I touch the surface of the shallow water, the moisture stinging, pinching, and prying against my flesh in a fatal attempt to never let go. 
I never let go, they did. Thereupon, everything was brimming over and overwhelming, the posterior of my feet carried me away as an ambulance would, but not to preserve a life, to cease one. 
And I stepped forward to the ridge of it involuntarily, I couldn’t contain the dopamine rush that numbs me in necessities, to the substance, to the moon and back, and my skin itches at the longing of something to mantle and envelope me. To be heartened to the threshold where the only evidence I would have for myself would be to stray the knife across my indentured arteries and let the blood seep from my skin in an effort to make me sure of death itself; how it would recently breathe against the nape of my neck. 
It would give me mixed signals of whether it was the waft of the twilight that would convey the chilliness to make me shiver as I stand evacuated from sensations without any veneer of going back. 
I ran from a relinquished house, and I broke it apart, my imperfection, undoubtedly was my fault. That I was convinced of, two hands ringlet around my waist and yank me back from the ledge, I attend the exclamations, though my mind clogs and goes underneath the memorials that collide into me with robust force, I haven’t felt the detriment done to me, the force was a whiplash that hauled me back from the meet and greet with my God. 
My pupils dilated and took in my surroundings, we met each other's gaze and I sank and was lost in the intimacy of his voice. My best friend from birth, my brother had tears sinking down his face, though anger was his facade that he covered it with. My heart wrenched at his expression as it morphed into that of anger, sadness, frustration, and disappointment. He too longed for, inadequately, to be met with cessation, the stringency wouldn’t help him, I was a walking triumph of a facade, nobody could get past me, nobody could look into my eyes and see how broken in actuality I was. 
Nobody could see past my laughter that was melancholic and igniting around the bungalow, he uttered into my ear that if I were to take my life he would be against it, abhor me boundlessly, and divulged to me that he would omit my annoying laugh that shimmered around the house and my cacophony of a voice that kept him from sprawling and held him back from commuting suicide. 
His painkiller, he said was essentially his meditation, he would relieve the tension from his shoulders and forget about the real world and we would ascend hand in hand to venture out into our childhood for whom which it wasn’t shrouded with worry, depression inkling into our flesh, betrayal we would continue to face. We strolled hand in hand like we would, we sprinted as far as our feet could take us, departing from the meadows and dandelions that called us to set them free, we ignored them and ran into the streets and dodged the upcoming cars that were ameliorating by the minute. He didn’t take his pills that night, I didn’t steal his like usual. We conducted an all-nighter and found comfort until sunrise. 
We smoked and laughed, the reality falling off our shoulders, or we adjourn the silence that balances our emotions and continuous thoughts that seem to go on with no end. 
We longed to have each other every step of the way if one of us were to reach their demise. I now have immunity to emotional withdrawal in regards to him.
Virtually, I was his painkiller. And he was mine.
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