If I died, no one will ever benefits from the shit I wrote.
This place right here, I laid down my contemplation, a memoir of time that I’ve
lost. I can’t believe how much time has passes by. And how little have I
change. I fought with a figment of my own self issue and I never won. At some
point, I just want a rest. I just want to take a break. A long pause. But, time
is no gentleman. Time leave us. And it leave us
fast. Like once it got one step further and never look back. And I am still standing
here, watching it goes with everything I care most. Hopeless, helpless. And the more i think of it, the closer i am to despondency. I need drugs. Prescribed non prescribed whatever. I need something to make me forget. Something to make me feel again.
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