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Gothymothy girl
My nails bite into my hands
Deeper. Deeper. The feeling is bland.
I pull them out of my skin;
Try again.

Salty tears fall down my cheeks.
I haven't cried in weeks.
These are not tears of pain;
They're of joy. Try again.

Bloody crescents in my palms.
Looking at them calms.
No matter how much I refrain,
I always try again.
That's one of those things that you do, almost unconsciously, like biting your lip until you realize it's bleeding. I've done both, and it's bad times when you have to resort to them. But only when I cry because of anger. I've never cried because of joy, in fact, I think it's myth entirely. But I liked your poem because I can relate, I think you did well.
Gothymothy girl
Thank you. I did it at two o clock in the morning. . . tired as heck. I had insomnia. I hardly ever rhyme but it ended up working. . .

Thanks for the feedback. . . maybe I should change the crying with joy part.
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