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I feel like I'm being crushed, like everything is suffocating my existance, my emotions, my cares; as if I were a distorted sheet of glass. I'd want to die except for fear. I hate breathing, walking, being, caring, knowing; I hate myself. Nobody cares though, so it is alright for me to hate myself. If no one is there to stop me, then everything is left to my darkening reality. Here I cut myself, making sure that I still bleed, wondering where pain went, and what the sensation is. There's nothing to oppose me; there is nothing, therefore what I turn into everything will go on unchecked. This newly forged blade, surely will make a pretty mess of me.
Approximate Word count = 448 Approximate Pages = 1.8 (250 words per page double spaced)
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