It’s easy to fall apart. Easy to get lost, it’s easy to eat out the rust and the darkness inside you.

It’s easy to let things and people devour you, and it’s easy to let it all flush you down with just one bat of lashes.
Sometimes there is no road, no end and no beginning, no bargain for your soul. Sometimes, no blanket is in sight and no helping hand but yours.

But your hand is broken, is bloodied, it has no power to hold you, to support you. Your hand was lost in a battle long forgotten, and the battle was already won by the other side when you started fighting.

Success is not your middle name, nor is happiness. People use you, your body and your feelings, and you feel fine with that. You are numb to everything that’s happening around you.

You help that people will eventually run you down, that they’ll use you to point they won’t care anymore. You’re kinda expecting that. You’re kinda wishing that. And you feel fine with that.

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