tiredness
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I'm filled with laughter and I'm filled with hate. Bipolar destruction that's not so great. Stuck with depression urged by perfection, a smile that's desired and a cry that's gone tired.
You watch the number on the digital clock
gyrate a teasing dance that burns your eyes
and you can feel every second that ticks by
in the tightness of your skull and the
dryness of your eyes.
