You are the little sister of Depression,
and the daughter of Death.
The numb feeling that takes over me,
and sends pain through my chest.
You are the winter that kills the black butterflies,
and puts ice on the side walks just to see who will survive.
The reason I'm breatless, and with out joy.
So tell me who is next, who are you going to destroy ?














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Ignatius
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Ignatius
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