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Bleeding.
Almost dying.
SHAME.
Shame that slithers and smirks with entropy.
Over and over.
My pencils are broken.
I am only this hollow face.
I am a simpleton with a bad taste.
I am a wasted space forced into drunken stars.
Stars with eyes and spinning tales of who and how.
So what was that?
This strange heart.
That cowardly bitch.
That alarm rings.
Our sleeping legs brake.

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