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Tuesday, March 30, 2010


I feel like I'm made of glass. My rib cage is about to split at any moment and my insides will spill all over the floor.

Everything is floating, but the burning behind my eyes and cheeks won't stop. I can feel all the pipes and veins beneath my skin.

He makes my soul feel like a monster.
The voices are everywhere
And the silence...

There's a certain buzz and hum to it.

Isn't there an old cliche that says age brings wisdom and understanding? Because my grandmom's a pretty big indication that it's bullshit.

Not only is it impossible to teach an old dog new tricks. It's impossible to show an old dog the necessity and sometimes beauty of new tricks. They're always stuck in their old ways. There's no reasoning with them.
I hope I never become like that no matter how old I get.

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