Take it off your chest...
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I feel cold all the time. I don't think. I don't express emotions. A shell, that's what I believe I am. That's when I look down and envision large open wounds engraved in my arms. I imagine thick blood gushing from the deep cuts. The small shiver that runs through my body and feel the sting of the freshly made incisions. Alive. Temptation.

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