"Everything will be okay", we say it, But we struggle to believe in every word Because right now all we can think of Are the growing lumps in our throats. Pain can be enlightenment, but it can murder, It can drag you down with every burden, And the more you carry on yourself, the longer is the war Between your mind and your unstable broken core. The wall is there to hold you while you process, The coldness of its grip will numb the pain, The floor is there to keep you sane at night, Until you figure out a way to leave behind this mess.
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