So it seems the World's beauty has faded, much like my dreams.. In the freezing rain, I wonder what it'd mean to feel alive again.
So it seems history repeats itself, like a dead end job stacking shelves. Bleeding from boredom, ignoring the pain.
I don't know where I'm going, I don't know if these dark eyes are showing that I am forever lost in the doldrums of life.
Tired
Author
I Am Made Of Memories
Bury us, and mark our names above let us be free
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