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Literature Text
everyone can lie
it's simply a fact.
no matter our virtue,
we've all had to act:
you're still the same
(you've changed so much)
give me a hug
(i cringe at your touch)
i'm not drunk
(give me more to drink)
i won't smoke
(i need not to think.)
i love you
(i'm filled with hate)
you're so thin!
(lose some weight)
i swear, it's fine
(go to hell, you whore)
i'm sorry, i'll stop--
(i love the blade more.)
it's simply a fact.
no matter our virtue,
we've all had to act:
you're still the same
(you've changed so much)
give me a hug
(i cringe at your touch)
i'm not drunk
(give me more to drink)
i won't smoke
(i need not to think.)
i love you
(i'm filled with hate)
you're so thin!
(lose some weight)
i swear, it's fine
(go to hell, you whore)
i'm sorry, i'll stop--
(i love the blade more.)
Literature
Irretrievably Broken
What can you do when the person who is supposed to love you the most doesn't care at all?
What should you do when the person who is supposed to have your back at all times stabs you in it instead?
What does it say when all the people who were supposed to be friends to both of you kept their silence?
I may forgive one day, but I will never trust again.
Literature
Farewell
Dear, Jessica.
Today Ronnie Childs died. Lucky me. The boys don’t want me to walk out and walk freee.
I can’t blame you for finally leaving me those months ago, but I know you too well.
You wouldn’t have ripped me from your heart, even though you should have. I don’t regret loving you, but letting you love me is the greatest sin.
Or second worst. The first was joining a gang.
I went numb as I ran out of things to care about.
Stopped caring about the taste of blood drawn in a fight, the bruises and cracked bones of my boys and myself, or what the other guys looked like.
Stopped caring about breaking into stores, robb
Literature
Incriminating Confessions
What is that strange great desolation residing inside of me? Where does it come from? It is a symptom ever remains unknown.
Where does this haunting rapture that is elegantly dressed in black hide? Every time I hear a grievous song or melody I ascend to a parallel world, strangely I feel the ecstasy. How come? Why do I feel I belong to blue songs, and they belong to the heart of me as well. The joyful joints are never missed, despite their presence they regrettably do not last.
My all-time favorite playlist didn’t change much through the years, sizzling beats come as fast as they go, and the throne still is reigned by same old songs.
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Lovely, are you okay?