My beloved Typewriter hit the wall

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They say: Once someone is a self-destructionist, he will always go forward from there. The cuts baring the soft skin and that power one holds in that instant, make all the pain that follow through worth something. I know that power very well, through various people I have came across,and  recently I got a muse for this poem from a guy, totally unknown to me.

 

I took it in my hand
stroke the plastic,
I smile winsomely
And then throw it hard against the wall,
quite irrelevant and drastic,
It flew as the centrifugal force upon it befalls.

I pick the white keys
clench them in my hand
My blood rushes through, faster
I let myself stomp my heart
Tonight let’s paint the world
in bleak hues.

 

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