0354. i should really be in slumber, resting whatever's left of what my wasted body can muster to lie down and shut out even for the slightest of the wee hours.
but it's all in the mind. all the damage, all the suffering, all the pain, all the wounds, all the scars and all the absent mirth in what used to be my life.
what's a little bodily anguish while im being taken apart cell by cell until i return to the dirt?
free my heart; save it from all woe and worry, misery and malady.
but what a foolish pity. no talents, no natural talents left in this remnant of mine. i fail to save my heart. first my emotions die. then my body. and im no more.
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