Tuesday, 21 July 2015


I asked myself if I had anything else and then I decided I didn't. I'd poured it all out until I was empty, on people who didn't care. With shiny eyes I'd read about their lives unfolding whilst I was enfolding my own in upon itself. Encasing myself in my own little inconsequential bump in history. An ant, crushed into the page by a pencil dragging a line between matters of more significance. I wanted nothing more than for everything to end for everybody. All at once...

...And yet life goes on and on and on, and every single song is the same fucking song.

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