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More broken than I’ll ever admit. That part of me just wants to stop and never start again.
I love living, painful as it’s been at times.
A whimper wrangles free as I repress the urge to delve my hand between my ribs, goring a hole in my chest cavity. To scratch the thumping organ like it’s an insect bite, or maybe wedge my fingers deep and scoop out this … sensation.
