Even though a part of my name is Miracle, there’s nothing miraculous about me.
My body portrays the tales of my life.
Every feeling, every heartbreak, every emotion.
Marked. Inked. Stained.
A walking canvas of my messed up truth.
But there’s one confession I can’t put in a tattoo.
A confession that will kill me to tell, but my best friend died before I had the chance.
Now I’m left with him.
The only one who can hold me in the night and squeeze that spot on my neck that feels like my lifeline between sanity and chaos.
But we don’t work together.
We’re absolute poison for each other.
We’re a stifling, suffocating, sickness of darkness.
But I feel safe…because I’ve made an art of pushing people away.
Now he’s pushing back…
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