Victoria Cleveland


Pain is Murder,
It sucks the happiness out from you like a bullet wound
It intoxicates the once happy thoughts
Stabs you through the heart like a searing knife
When all hope is lost,
Like a big red bloomed rose, wilting and turning black
depravity burning the calm meadow
pain isnt just a cut in the skin, but a rip in the heart
pain is as dangerous as a silent killer

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