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Friday, October 15, 2004


Title:Blood
I take the scissors and run the blade across my arm. Then I watch as a thick, crimson liquid runs down my arm. It's warm and represents my hatred, my saddness, my life. Now my white shirt is a deep red as I lay in a pool of my own blood. It's sad that it had to come to this. If only someone had gotten to me sooner, then maybe I could have been saved.
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