I used to love the girl that I was,

The 'uncategorized' the 'non-conformist',

The 'goth' the 'emo' the 'freak' the 'depressive',

Head held high,

Or buried in notebook,

Or slamming full-force against a wall,

Hard-rock, metal, it made me see who I was,

But then it all faded,

I was sick of being different,

But couldn't be the same,

So I depended on knife, blade anything sharp,

I don't really care where it goes from here.

The End

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