my emptyness is gone, the cycle of thinking end
i've given up and now every thing i see looks red
nothing but anger
only anger
at people, too, that used to be able to make me feel happy
things turn from solution to problem
a new cycle's birth in the death of the old
but this time it isn't a stand still
instead bad is my constant
only enough peace to keep me from blowing
and through out all of it i will only care about the people that i hurt
and none of them will know it
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titles arn't my thing
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