i can’t write anymore. I don’t even have it in me to write poetry. I’m inches from another relapse and the only thing stopping me was the poems. I’ve got no more inspiration. I’m so low I can’t even express it. I want to go back. To cutting. To drugs. To cigarettes. To not giving a fuck about anything. Because this forcing myself to care about life is draining me. Maybe another attempt will set me straight. Maybe if I can just solidify my depression, I’ll never have to be happy again. I’m sure I’ve got more than enough razors and pills. Maybe I’ll drop […]
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