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I feel angry, but angry doesnt feel me. Maybe this is more so an illusion. You spend your time gathering all of those thoughts, Just to let the positive ones slip into the abyss. You are not lost.
I laugh at the moon And all it says I cry to the sun And it happens again It's all a lie These romaticized gods It's all gone All taken by the one Taken by me I commit treeson
When people ask me who I am, I stutter, because for some reason, the language of myself is foreign to me. We could call it a result of bullying, mental illness, or plain teenage mystery.
Why would I use sephia to cover up my freckles,