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My Mess

It's days,

meaningless like this one,

that seem magical in ways,

no one else can see, no onebut me.

As if I wasn't scared enough.

And these days just won't change.

These days,

sick and sore I swear I'll end it all,

I know how to quit,

or call in sick to everyone.

And I'll be moving on.

Except these days just won't change.

Forever doesn't look so good,

so forever I must try and think of ways

to clean up my mess,

unlock the door,

it's time for me to try to leave.

These days,

long and uninspired, I feel empty and so tired.

Nothing to show for what is now

just a lack of strength.

And these days just won't change.

We're in Hell,

Will it end?

Will I ever control myself?

Will I ever find my childhood strength?

Will these days ever change?

Will it end?

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