It's a miserable thing, life is. To keep going waiting for the cuts to heal but end up getting more instead. I always thought I would go out swinging. I thought my life would be grand and meaningful, but now I wonder if my story will even make it into the footnotes. I fear that just the crushing weight of mundanity is enough to snuff me out. Where has my fight gone? My drive? My hope? It all seems like apathy now.
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Death of 1000 cuts
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