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It's been months without seeing his face, How he smiled a little too wide, His teeth sharp with appetite. It's been months without hearing his voice, How he spoke a little too quietly,
( Based on Manchester Bombing, 2017, and the death of Saffie Roussos. )   "Come on Ashlee, you promised you'd get up and dance!" I look at my little sister, her grin and stubborn stance,
I feel the walls close in on me As I feel the hinges of panic crawl onto my skin And the inklings of my mind. The beast has been let out of their cage again Because I forgot to obey their orders swimmingly. Now they've turned violent against me I
Brain constructs phrases and sentences Sends the information to the gaping hole It’s detailed and thorough Black hole receives it and ruins it effectively  
In the abyss a crevice of black I curl my neck ready to attack With inked rapiers in my claws I slash and stab hoping for renewal   Half awake my sore back sprouts
It comes so quickly It leaves me weak and helpless I try to talk Nothing, as if somebody hit the mute button My breathing quickens As if I just finished running a marathon
 Throat             closing Breath  quickening      Ears   ringing
Attack. So much ferocity in one word. Attack. It usually means war. Attack. Would you do it in your own home? No. You attack the enemy. The intruder. You don't attack your friend.
The effects of a past riddled with bullets; empty shells, empty lies, hit the pavement, resounding with the weight of all lies past. You can't tell me, with all of these wounds, parts of us didn't die.
She was feeling lonely lonely so alone He was horny, said he'd make her day She resisted at first, but she knew him already.
Rain slithers along my body, Mixing in with the blood seeping through my wounds, Smoke filling my lungs as I make a run for the forest, Bushes consume me, Soil soaking up crimson, Droplets staining the grass,
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