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truths

i married once
it hasn't killed
her yet
oh mother
i wish for death
my shame and
my guilt eat
away at my flesh

i get notes from
editors saying i
write about morbid
things

their powers of
fucking observation
are amazing

i can't write about
nature
nor
do i want to
flowers
to me
are dead creatures
much like me
yet they are 
far prettier

i once asked a
friend to pull the
trigger of a glock
i had in my mouth
and she wouldn't

i can't end it
with grace
and
i can't give a damn

i wish i had something
to kill besides myself

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