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There are some days


That waking up is hard.
That breathing is difficult.
That living is painful.
That I would rather lay in the streets than in your bed.
That I can’t look in the mirror without crying.
That I don’t want to talk or be seen.
That I wish I never felt any of this.
That I deserve every scar I gave myself.
That I want to let go.
That I don’t why I exist.
That I forget what love is.
That I refuse to be sober.
That I can’t handle reality.
Where I don’t want to be me and I’m really sorry.

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