Whut the ******** do you want from me.I cannot take this. you say you want to know whats wrong, ask some one els.Everyone knows but you. How can you not know? How do you expect me to feal? ******** that. I am tired of tacking it up the a** from every one. I will die,cry,fall,fail,And even ruin my life for you.Do you want mor? Piss me off! ******** that.stop screeming in my head. I cant live on haveing you defile my belife.I belive in you but that is not enouf. Not for me And not for you.How dare you? When you say his name I want to feed on his blood, yet I look the other ******** that
I will not bleed for the both of you.My blood is worth mor then that.Mor then him.Your denying voice has eccoed in my head for to long.Why should you have to feel my pain to know it.Hear it to accnowladg it.Your words sear into my skin. Cant you see it.You say I am jelous, of whut?Of him?why not? he has had you as much as I.
But I allways love you the same,maybe mor.
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the Journal of the tempest
In a room thair is a table. On this table is a book. The closer to the book you get to the table,the more you feel your body bern.
The onley way to get eny closer to the book is to disgard all belife in phisical pain. You must thribe on the min
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