shantel nichols


Cold

I lie awake on this cold concreat floor, thinking i could dash threw that open door.
Screaming, crying, lieing there in pain, trying to think this is not a made up game.
To them is it? Full of blood screaming tocher?
Their eyes full of glory.
Tearing my heart in half.
My crys are not heard in this dark cold room. The only things present is my rusty razor, me and the pool of blood i lie in.

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