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Picking up the Pieces

Could you remove the bullet from my head?
What about ripping out the knife out from my back instead?
Suffocating with these eyes still closed to humanity,
Rolling around in these unclean sheets,
Dreaming of, who’s better than a man like me?
Would you wipe this blood up off of these wounds?
An animal locked in this dreadful shed
Trapped in this forever empty room
I’ll scrub until there are no more stains,
But am I coming clean? Am I coming clean?
Still I’m too blind to see all the other cuts and bruises,
I’m too shy to notice the world’s disease,
I’m no cleaner then you, so is it me?  
I’m still too broken to pick up these pieces.
Will you lift the body of ash out of the rubble?
A beautiful structure is crumbling,
And we are all burning from within.

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