Shred up my notes and throw them away. My feelings are pathetic with a price to pay.
I'm fighting a battle that I cannot win. I'm fighting myself until I hit the ground and cease to breathe.
I'm fighting a battle that will end in time. I'm fighting myself until I hit the ground and die. Passing up on chances, giving up on chances.
Conflicted because I'm stuck in a rut. There's no other angle to approach this from. It's love and it's hate. It's happiness, regret, and least importantly it's angst.
Pardon me, while I enjoy a smoke and a drink so I can remember why I hate myself and why I don't like to think.
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