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Depression

An old poem from an old account in the voice of the old me...

You can't see me,

You can't see my teary eyes,
Or the tracks down my face,
Or the blood slowly trickling from my wrists.

Not much left.
Almost gone.

You can't see me,

You can't see my pale face,
Or the fear in my eyes,
Or the scars all over from his assault.

Mind going blank.
Almost gone.

You can't see me,

Not here.
He made sure of that.
He made sure I was in the dark
When I ended my own life.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright 2012-2019 by Aria Leitner aka Colors_of_the_Wind

Posted with permission at storiesspace.com

All other rights reserved

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