In my darkest moments, I held my own hand

What have I done
This is pain
And it is real.
Before I even did anything I thought 'This is gonna hurt'
And it did.
I hate being right sometimes.
But I deserve all of this.
I keep thinking 'one day, Kaylee, one day'
But what if never?
I'm prepared to be alone forever.
I've laid the stone and cured the concrete
My heart is hard and can't be touched by outside hands.
But I keep ripping into it myself.
And it's broken again, now what do I have left to put it back together?
I can write to get it out of me. To hem the frayed edges of my heart.
Then I'll stitch it back together and bury it again.
The problem with a buried heart is it never sees the light and turns black.
Though it will stay together and keep longer.
Which is really all I need.

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