They are all the same. My artistry shot through, my ability disjointed. Let it stop. I can’t create anything worth a damn anymore. I have such hatred for you Faithless. I despise you Faithless. And yet perhaps I cannot hate enough. I am still here. Is it the medication? Is it a peverse bond with my dearests? Am I really not that depressed? What am I perhaps? I know what I was; Smart, artsy, witty, social and earning a decent wage. What am I now poor, sad, pathetic, dense and medicated. I was never alone, I will never pretend at that. I still have such […]
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