We write and write about being sad.
And use metaphors to seem beautiful through words.
And use editing apps and beautiful lighting
to seem just a little bit prettier
because somewhere inside of us we were all beaten down to tiny pulps.
And people have made us feel like ticks on a dog.
And once they get a new shiny coat you are washed down the drain.
And you're kicked around but not killed.
You feel like you're on fire and you turn around
and someone's holding a lighter to your tiny fracture.
And the person burning you is your best friend or boyfriend
and before you can scream.
You're already dead inside.

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