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How Many Times?
How many times am I going to end up here?
Leaving class early because I can’t bear to have anyone see my whole body shake as I break down.
Back in the same room, time and time again, talking and talking, because: “Everyone’s worried about you,” they say.
And in that room I’ve mastered the art of revealing so little so that they don’t send me away, but I tell them just enough so they know they have to help me.
How many times am I going to end up here?
Feeling like I’m slowly falling into a dark pit of insanity,
the arms of my terrors dragging me into the abyss.
Some days I don’t want to get better,
because if the arms of my terrors aren’t engulfing me in their satanic love,
who’s arms will?
How many times until I will be free?
How many?
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