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Thursday, July 16, 2009


Why can't I just take a pistol to my head and make it end?
My head won't stop careening, the walls won't stop teasing.
High pressure, low pressure--
I'm a damn insecurity button-presser!
Everything still hurts and it all screams so much of fake, I'm about to burst.
"Slow down," she says and soothes. "Take your eyes off the clock and your hands off the Glock. Deep breaths, get some rest. Get some rest."
I sigh, wishing I could be satisfied.
Honestly, I don't want to die,
I just keep forgetting what it means to be alive.

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