Alcohol driven, brain sloshed with bitter memories, I am more susceptible to other people than myself. And I shed my tears for my past, but it's only because I morn for it. When I cry today, I cry for those who have had it worse than I have. And because you cannot gauge one person's pain to the next, I never feel my own self pity is validated. So if I cry, drenched in spirits, wanting a normal life, perhaps I am only channeling those around me. Perhaps, I am nothing more than an interpreter who has forgotten how to speak, and can now only listen.
No matter, it is my life and I am done apologizing for it.








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find me a storm where the wild winds blow.
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"Who were you before you became you?"
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you make me want to dance
a storm of appreciation
your ink splashes and crawls,
a wriggling living line on the page
im full of awe
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¤ I'm sorry for my english... but I'm french ^^¤
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What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
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"Who were you before you became you?"
So much work with senior project.
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What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
--
"Who were you before you became you?"
--
What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
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