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People don’t understand What it feels like: The razor's tears on  perfect cheeks When there are none. Every time rebellious eyes Gaze upon merciless kitchen weapons, Mother’s prescriptions, Any door out Out of this house...

People don’t understand

What it feels like:

The razor's tears on  perfect cheeks

When there are none.

Every time rebellious eyes

Gaze upon merciless kitchen weapons,

Mother’s prescriptions,

Any door out

Out of this house

Out of your sticky synapse grip.

People don’t understand how it is

To be the only one among silent screams

Bare bottles, broken glass and

All who aren't supposed to be there.

You try to leave, you really do

But the fear of passing on the

Guilt, the pain...

It doesn’t seem fair, so

You’ll live

You’ll hate

Be hated and carry on with

Borrowed air, a

Hollowed soul

Stolen clothes and

Vindictive care.

No one knows –

But because you do

Suddenly you start to feel

Special?

But the truth is

We all understand to a

Certain degree

We just choose not to

Or perhaps we have forgotten

Like the ones who could forgive.

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