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A Poem
Category: Writing and Poetry
Alone, a feeling that never leaves. Winter, Fall, Spring, Summer. It never leaves. Suicide, something that always passes. Yet theirs nothing more then for me, What else can I do. My mind is always empty, With no thought of staying alive. Everyone would mourn for me. Am I doing this to be selfish? People ask me why. I am in enough pain as is. Theirs nothing more for me here. Thank you for my time, » Continue Reading