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Slit my wrists
and die,
grow feathered wings
and learn to fly.

Its Time…

Its time now, to make sence of things, things that have clouded my vision for years. Things that seem black and white, that have never been introduced to color. Things locked away and caged, burnt down, yet built up. Its time now, to make sence of things, things that have clouded my vision for years.