Murder.


One day I woke up to find out that I had killed my own-self. There, there I lie beneath the bloodshed of expectations, accused of murdering the pride of my love. Ever so guilty and all so helpless. What purpose had I been left behind with? To stab him with more agony? To bruise him with anger? Nay, tis’ was time that I brought it to an end. Time to murder myself, where he is all I got, and none is that I cared, then I shall not be here. I shall not be!

 

I killed myself for the lover’s pride. I killed myself for his smile.

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