This is it: this is everything that I am. Just a sea of diarrhea in a human shell. I'm just that, I'm just -- oh, what's the use. Put my foot over the edge to see how it feels. No future. No hope. No to everything I wrote. Burn it all. Fuck it all. I don't need the guilt of knowing I have the capacity to hurt the ones I love. Thought I was just a dork, thought I didn't affect you at all. I get anxious. I get scared. I try and act like I don't care -- I do a bad job. Bomb review. Draw the curtains now. All these words sucks, all these thoughts rot, all these feelings feel so trite. A shitty voice. A tired soul. Press snooze one more time.
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