I am not good,
And I am not pretty.
Each battle I face,
I always lose some.
Not actual people, of course.
But I lose the confidence,
I used to have.
The bravery I used to have.
The little beauty
That I used to have.
And I gain more pain.
So much.
I can't keep it all in,
So I release some of it.
Not all,
Because I deserve what I feel
For losing so many battles.
So I grab my knife,
And press the cool metal to
My skin.
In, it presses.
I smile as the pain flows out
Along with my blood.
I'm losing so many battles
I'm not sure how much longer
I can hold out
Before I lose the

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