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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() [Content warning: self-harm and suicide] somewhere beneath her raw, patchwork skin, there is a burning candle, lit within ivory moon-ribs. its wax drips down through her sunken chest, and when it is spent, the undead heart will finally rest. once the flame has filled her hollow lungs, the fire will spread, the sun
will rise on silent tongue. and if her mouth tastes razor-sour, of gas, her soul will remember the mistakes, the sins of the forsaken past. after cigarette burns sticker the sore flesh of her thighs, the eyes will open - it is not yet time to die. now that she has been saved, she will find a better way to murder the leathery pain. Comments are closed.
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May 2023
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