Permanent scars from her fathers belt. Covered the needle scars from the night before. The hour on the clock struck 120 after suffering. The edge became closer. And the birds will sing. Sympathy from no one the next day. She cried on the lap of a shrink. Her tears flowed from her eyes for a good long while. She stood at the edge. And the birds will sing. Below was the grass And above was stool. The tears kept flowing, and her eyes turned red. Blood was dripping, a breath she took. The edge has fallen And the bird have sang.
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