My Ring
There is a hand holding my ring.
That hand is not moving. It belongs to an
old friend who lost her life but lived in the end.
The hand that is holding my ring is starting to
move. It has now shown four fingers on top
of the dirt. I hope to make it through this night,
even if I have to fight. The ring is coming off
now so I can have my wedding that is from hell.
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