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one after the other, sick and withered lovers, like i’m their messiah. working on myself the best i know how, staying strong for your sake, for my sake. fighting the urge to grab the blade, the blunt, the lighter. biggie blasting suicidal thoughts in sore eardrums, swallowing beats and melodies till i throw up. sobbing in the dark screaming why me, only 2 weeks in and i’m gaining consciousness from this dream. feeling damaged and broken, the lack of tastebuds is allowing shit to be digested just to be spewed back out, violently. ayo chill, chill, it’s all an overreaction, i guess this is the hill i’ll die on, free will ain’t shit when your path has been preselected. fuck.
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Don’t do that.
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