| I wrote a story, confess all
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| With the strength of a paper doll.
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| The shock runs up my spine with every fall.
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| I hear a shattering sound.
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| As I break beneath this weight.
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| How could I depend upon this frame?
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| My legs go numb.
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| This grip is stifling.
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| Crushing the nerves in my back
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| Followed by a traumatic collapse.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| How I long to walk again.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| I’d give everything to stand on my own again.
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| My tolerance for pain descends.
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| It’s like broken glass burried under my skin.
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| What little strength I have is wasted on these sores.
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| I suppose I could drown myself,
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| in a sea of alcohol and opiates.
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| Twisting and writhing.
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| A crutch, a vice, a marginal respite.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| How I long to walk again.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| I’d give everything to stand on my own again.
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| My plagues coursing through my veins.
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| And I can’t stop this bleeding.
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| Oh God, it won’t stop bleeding.
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| I dream that I could run.
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| It’s something that I lost in all this searching,
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| for the strength to carry on.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| How I long to walk again.
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| I drag this mess with shaking hands.
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| Taking these staggering steps.
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| I’d give everything to stand on my own again. |