18 years old, slipping into the void.
Talking all the time saying nothing, youth gone cold and shriveled like the autumn leaves, they fall spinning down into the darkness of faint recollections of a time once alive, something on the lips of a word that feels familiar like a memory you should have.
But now you sit at a bar shriveled and old a prime relic of the times past all blurring into one large distorted mix of blue and black, wondering if it was really worth it.
Gobbling pills that the doctor gave you, to fix what's now cracked and torn inside it's not working.
it's not working
as just how thousands have died so do the words on my lips frozen with the inability to decided on when is too far.
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