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It has been a week now,
No longer scared of mirrors,
But today is her birthday,
I guess am long dead to her,
Three is the number,
Poems I've written to her and burnt today,
Fire eats paper,
I guess what I feel is like petrol,
So fire only turns my insides to the 4th of July.
Tried to scream,
But her name must have thorned itself to my throat.
I guess for me outside one prison will always be inside another.
Now am spiralling down that tunnel of self hate,
Hitting my head on every rock further downwards.
I can only imagine how pathetic I look right now.
Pity can't wait to hug me huh?
The good times we had,
Now roll away like carpets,
Blowing all the dirt on my face.
It's amusing I guess,
Ask her friends.
It's quite the show.
I want to meet her,
Tell her am sorry for being me.
But am scared her cold stare would turn me to a statue of ash then throw me into a storm.
I guess she was too good.
To be any more true than all the "am okay " I tell to everyone.
Ace would be so disappointed in me.
Always told me I was my own poison,
And my antidote too.
But today I just wanna break down.
Then her smile came into my head,
Not even three Eminem albums are ending this.
And that's my option Z.
Am running out of alphabet,
Yet drowning in words.
Listening to gangstarap.
Then these tears falling in RNB.
"You're the worst"
Telling me to stop being cheesy.
Her scar is a permanent marker and am running out of erasers.
Guess it's back to wishing my bed turns to a coffin
And these memories of her bury me alive.
_"You're the worst"_
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