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Like the blade.
Folder:
From The Past The sharp blade slices through your wrist.
Up your arm and back down towards your clenched fist.
The blood drips down as it hits the floor.
I see you sitting there. More and more.
Just run away and never come back.
All you ever do is hack and hack.
You push harder with the blade.
You love the feeling as you see the stains.
The days go on and the marks fade.
But the memory and the pain will forever remain.
