What do you want? What do you want? Over and over again as though the question itself will bring an answer. Nothing. Nothing comes. I want nothing.
This is what my life is really like. I think you tend to romanticize me, but this is reality.
P.S Am I suppost to feel sorry for you, or think you’re grotesque?
P.P.S I am not afraid of you anymore, I’m more afraid of myself.
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