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The weight of 15 years
Feeling alive and dying inside.
As I walk next to the ocean near the moon,
I reach out and touch it.
I stain with every touch and with every step.
Surrounded by the purity I'm not worthy of,
My mere presence contaminates the essence of paradise.
Angels see the unworthiness of impurity,
Yet I have no eyes,
Mine are a pair of wounds
From which my interior darkness is peeping out
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