RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Machete Of Grief
Distancing myself, floating through the skies alone, thinking of nothing in particular, but feeling hurt, I can't seem to let go of.
Despair following me into an abyss of darkness from which I write from, trying to detach myself again from it's sadness.
Telling self it no longer matters, knowing it still does, as it's machete of grief cuts me into millions of pieces.
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