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The year I turned 15
My grandmother passed away
& we moved in with my grandfather
To help him grieve

The house it reeked
Of death & decay
The only noise were echoes
Of desperation & despair
& I thought to myself
I'd never make it out of here

Every day began the same
After a cup of coffee
He would start drinking
Trying to fill a hole
With an bottle now empty

I took a page from his book
But read it differently
With a razor in hand
I attempted to cut away the pain
Never thought it would work
As well as it did
At least momentarily

I became addicted to the power
I held in my hand
The control the razor gave
Even with the strings attached
I came to love it

So the year I turned 15
Everything changed
I looked in a mirror
& didn't recognize
The person standing there

A stranger
With cuts so deep
& blood so red
& a look on his face
Like he was dead

~ Brandan Michael.

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The following comments are for "Becoming A Stranger"
by fbomber125

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