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No title for the missery I been facing. Consistent in my tears only God know what Im thinking. So im praying like listen can you hear me. I cherish what I love most dearly like my girl and who I envy. No title for my missery,sympathy, and pretending. I grieve because success Is kinda slow of reaching. I just hope the hopeless listen when the preacher preaching. Sad to say they approach me like im relieving demons. All im doing is seeing. Scratch that, I just keep my eyes open for the backstabbers and pack rats. No title for my demise, open your eyes and see if you can listen. We choosing like positions but we all blind. No title for casual hugs, but damaging love, killing the phone line. No title for recitals and practicing on your arrival to your goal how about you just reach it, no denial. Crashing into the finish line with the thought to continue flying. No tilte for success, only success.

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