i hurt. i hurt. i have memories of being a child and being abused. i call myself a liar.
i tell other people not to do what i do because its bad for them. truth is its because if we all do it, then its no longer just me being quirky, its the whole world being sad.
i sometimes hate people so much for feeling, and for hurting. i hate people who build ice castles for themselves. i hate people who try to make it always winter and are so caught up in self pity that they forget that there is a world outside their mind. i am drawn to these people to though. i think i have a place insideof me that can only be filled up by trying to help, because then maybe i can help myself, because i must be like them deep down.
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i have memories of being a child and being abused. i call myself a liar.
i tell other people not to do what i do because its bad for them. truth is its because if we all do it, then its no longer just me being quirky, its the whole world being sad.
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