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Random Nothingness.
Random things.
Ugly. (A poem)
As I look in this mirror and engross myself in what it shows,
I feel the retched need to hide this face from the world,
To hide the shame that my pain has caused me,
These scars are the price I paid for my self loathing,
As the image in the mirror becomes unbearable to bare I shatter the tainted glass and watch as the liquid flows rapidly,
This monster you see is only a mirage of the shell that I am,
This empty, lonely, shell of a girl that was once happy and full of vitality,
That girl, that girl died so many years ago,
She is empty, she is wasted, she is ugly.





 
 
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