I'm never who I write about. For every mood; I write it down.
Each letter looms. It's like a cloud. I weather through this life without
the stresses you invite. I shroud my senses in fantasies.
Reality based snippets. No family. These are the limits of handling
what I'm given. I'm managing. Living through anarchy
you can't envision. I am asleep. It's prescriptions and it's weed.
It's the liquids. Why can't I think without missing. I'm canceling
Christmas. Dismantling anything that can get in or damage me.
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