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Sunday, March 15, 2009

Demise

Someone twists a knife in my gut, and I cannot see. I fight against the attack, but I’m only fighting me. Every time I think of him- the way his hair blew in the wind, the color of his eyes, the way his voice rumbled when he said goodbye- I am the cause of my own demise.


Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself...

1 comment:

izzy_roses said...

OMG! This one is like my favorite now! I <3 it!