when i get to hell

some people say
my love will send me to hell.

what they don’t know
is that i’ve already been there.
hell is a pair of tweezers
writing a story on my bare arm,
screaming, begging for help.
hell is sitting on the cold linoleum
of my kitchen floor, wishing for death.
hell is staring at myself in the mirror,
wishing i was someone else.

some people say
my love will send me to hell.
but at least this time

i’ll have something to fight for.

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when i get to hell

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