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by Foresaken_Tears Oct 9, 2005
Sadness, depression /
I would cry a thousand tears for those whom I have lost,
But my worn tearducts are empty of water,
My cheeks salty-stung beyond redemption.
I might pity myself for these things I have been through,
Yet every ounce of futile sorrow
Is lavished upon another.
I should bleed from these tears to my paper skin,
My weary heart jut rests
In stubborn, dormant complacence.
I once felt numb where I thought I should feel,
But now, curled tight like some cruel abortion,
I accept pain, again and again and again,