my hands are flurries of activity, my head a host for live clutter filling higher, breathing shallower, even as the mess atop my dresser clears
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life is really, incredibly sad. the saddest part of all being that we are the lucky ones; the ones who made it. out of the womb, through tunnels of flesh lined with blood, tearing viciously through cracks only to wither under light
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13:39 Lady at convenience store thought i was 15. She thought i was working with police. I drink this beer for you, lady! # Automatically shipped by LoudTwitter