This solitude has finally caused me to snap. Cold winds whip through this old weathered shell. I've dug my way past hell. Injecting abysmal assurance. That this time I'll surely concede. This will be my last breath. Don't save me. The small fissures become canyons of crimson Crusting over the once fragile flesh. As I seek golden seams. Try to find a chance to redeem. My worthless existence on this plane, Why may I not hold the hand of death. Seemingly I've weighed, been measured, and cannot be killed. I llove every second of death. It dwells throughout my head. May these vapid relations with my life be spent. Wearing my veins as though sleeves. Hoping for Infection disease. But now I realize. This rampaging carousel spinning in circles until it immerses me into the void. I conclude that death intends for me to remain here, suffer, decay. As the human race is pushed to extinction. I've killed myself so many times I'm alive.
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