Fingertips. Daily Struggles. Hard life. Wind. Cold. Night.
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Damn, I can't stand you.All the crap that you caused, all the crap still to come, I can't stand through.Thicker than bamboo.But now they starting to see through your lies, and you know I'm just preying that they catch you,
I cannot see anything through the frosted glass,
So I creep up to the window, more silent than the night-time wind,
And open the heavy frame.
Gray paint chips flake onto my chapped fingertips.
