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self destruction never had a better name

the natural fact of the shattering touch

the effortlessness of corrupting anything good

to wake up every morning and remember the truth

that there’s nothing left in your life

bleeding hearts that eventually dry up

a complete anthology of open wounds

a museum of cruel tragedies

everything that seems spiteful nailed into you

judged by every little mistake

criticized for every good effort

crucified for every shameful fault

a mind full of eternal regrets

shadows following you everywhere

the everlasting feeling of emptiness