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Hanging from the rope, he picked up the pen...
Fuck
Behaving as if five years of hating myself could rectify the wrongs that I've committed, I wrote again like the whore I am... But in five years time it's as if my tears have become currency in a broken world. I see it everytime I make the effort to mend the many bridges I've, burned while enduring the same hypocracies I've always faced. (it makes the task that much harder)I punish myself for being an attention whore daily, and with a smile, nonetheless, as I sacrifice myself to different lines, sucking out the soul of the silver stardust on the table, through a straw, the true nature of the succubus I'm told...

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