it’s been years, stuck in this labyrinth of issues. why do i feel like i haven’t made an ounce of progress when it’s all that occupies my mind?
i feel as though i’m still thirteen, digging through the garage in hopes to luck out on a rusty box cutter, and a bottle of booze to temporarily wash away any coherent thoughts.
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i sit in the grass, smoking my thoughts away until all that’s remains is an ashy blur.
recovery doesn’t seem like an option anymore, it’s comforting to wallow in my misery.
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