This poison is too bitter not to share.
To not have it run through your veins,

staining every good memory you have and

highly defining the bad ones.

To not have it poke holes into every cloudy

dream you have, giving weight to your doubts

and disbeliefs.

I will circle the cup and have you gaze into your

reflection.

 

These wounds are too deep not to scratch into others.

 

To not have your heart ripped out of your chest and set

alight in front of your eyes leaving only beating cracks

in it’s place.

To not have blades tattoo desolate dreams against your

skin, unsure if today will be the day where the veins will

be nicked.

I will bare my marks and hand you the blade.

 

These voices are too loud not to be heard by others.

 

To not suffocate under your sufferings and wishing you

could resuscitate more than just your joy.

To not criticise outer beings because your inner-self is too

dark to have a reflection.

I will shout their whispered words.

 

This world is just too big to be the only bitter woman.

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