I hang on longer than most. My hands will bleed, blisters will form. Scraps and cuts do not bother me. But once I am done, I will not go back. My skin is torn, there is blood on my shirt. My grip is tight, it strains my arms. I call out for help, as the grip loosens. But once I am done, I will not return. It might take several times, it might take years. The scars will heal, the blisters fade, but the memory lives on. I hold on again, but I do not stay long. But once I am done, there is not going back, I hung on longer than you did. My hands bleed and the blisters broke, But once that branch breaks, I am done. You can only hang on to people for so long. Before you lose your grip. You look at your hands and remember how pretty they were, Before the blood, scars and blisters. You remember how happy you were once, And you know it is time to move on.
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