The literal pain of growing up

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Here I was numb, bones broken, soul void of life, body crushing hard to the cold floor. I curled my self into one feeble pile of emotional rock bottom, I had to feel something for the emptiness in me plunged dangerously; looming through my mind. I loved the uncouth cold, the dusty ground, as I weakly breathed in the heavy dusty air that pierced through my nostrils and riled the temples of my rugged skin.

“Will I ever find myself again?”, I wondered as tears were unceasingly rolling down my cheeks followed by disturbing mind imagery; the voices saying, “sing to me! Hold me! I want to hear something! Say something!” Oft hopelessness rafted my thought upon denial the other friend of doubt. “So is this what it feels like to grow up? It pains till it’s nothing. It never gets easy from up here.” I tasked my conscience, and as the bad days seemed longer, the good days seemed never!

And my heart in a dying voice, begged, “Breath. Don’t ever forget to breath. Never!”

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Artista St. Pope

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