These wrists don’t hurt from me lifting weights
My words were a tragedy from the first pronoun I discovered
My depression made Satan smile on the way to the abyss 
These lines are my medication for a sickness I hope not to from recover
I am hypocritical about my hypocrisy
My Guardian angel fled when he met my demons
These stories are a fable pretold by Dante
The blood on my hands are from the wars fought against this legion
My forearm carries words inscribed by the pain of heartbreak
Life turned sour when my love life became unsavory
The love of my life doesn’t want me like I would want
I stopped believing in the fantasy of religion when salvation didn’t save me
I am a happy spirit buried in the sands of sadness and hurt
Stabbed in the chest by a photo shoot with the enemy
Walking away from the direction of my redemption
Death was never meant to happen quietly.

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