People think I don't feel anything, the truth is I feel everything. The truth is I don't know where to begin. I gave this everything except my own skin. I would have if I could I gave this more than anyone should. Get out before this becomes a life sentence? Seven years of bad luck and good riddance? Just because it's not widely publicised doesn't mean I'm not in agony. It doesn't mean the pain that you've caused isn't slowly blinding me. I've wiped away more tears than I care to admit as I pictured my world without this at the centre of it but death is cunning, no use in running. My death is near. Something I don't fear. Death is coming. The idea is stunning. That chill in the air. Death is here. I still think there's something here worth saving but I can't be the one to satisfy that craving. My time is up, a truth that I now bare. My time is up, not that you even care.
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