Artistic Sadistic Scars

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Crescent moons in my palms,

Alarming thoughts in my head.

When I'm a danger to myself,

I'm sure I'm better off dead.

When the blands don't cut it,

When the lighter doesn't burn.

When I'm a danger to myself,

It makes your stomach churn.

I don't care what they call me,

Fucked up, crazy, sadistic.

I find my scars quite alluring,

You might even say artistic.

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