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i'll admit it. sometimes it's hard to make me happy. when my brain is working so hard to keep my spirits down pumping chemicals i know shouldn't be there
The more dirt you throw on top of a forgotten beauty, The more difficult it becomes to find. Because then it gradually changes, Disguised by the rotting filth that scuffs out it's light,
Even while you sleep.
The stars; so far yet so near. Though impossible, I can feel their soft whispers through the night. Rippling in my ear, each has a story to tell, A story of the beginning, the now, and the end.