There is a piece of hard, sharp glass
piercing what is left of me.
It bleeds as I touch it,
as I think of it.
Every time, it's one additional drop yet it feels more and more numb.
Yet, the denial keeps me going.
It pushes me harder,
"Maybe if you try hard enough, you can prove that it's not there."
What a joke. This is average.
I am average.
I'm crawling, dragging my feet towards the finish line as it bleeds and bleeds.
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