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Happiness is a made up construst
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My mind is a prison, without any bars.
I'm addicted to feelings, not drugs, and this is the worst thing.
My body is loyal, but my heart is a whore and it takes
grand strength everyday to not hurt myself.

But, dear, feelings are my addiction and the feeling I get from the nails and razors
digging in my skin, is depressingly orgasmic. And I lay there, in a tired worthless state of mind, until I fall asleep and begin the same nightmare tomorrow.

And I gave myself to him... and he used me. And I gave myself to
him and him and him and him and they used me and used me and used me until it was natural for me to feel used and obligated to satisfy.

And darling if I died three minutes from now, those would be the happiest three minutes of my life. I don't want to be alive but i'm too scared to end my own life
so here I am baby doll, fucking and drinking away.

when I was younger I was honestly in love, and I don't know what happened
but that is gone now and ever since I've craved that feeling and
searched for it everywhere and drove myself insane, craving that in love, faithful feeling.

And I get attached so easily, to anybody that says they love me and gives me the attention I love to get. I think maybe, i'm too sexually developed. considering, these guys can usually legally vote and buy booze.

I'm a whore. A whore a whore a whore, and i'm only beautiful without clothes in the dark in the bed of a guy who wouldn't care if I was there or not.
happiness is a made up construct.

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