No cure for the damaged

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Rainy days bring the best/worst out of my writing abilities...

Submitted: July 21, 2012

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Submitted: July 21, 2012

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If depression is a sickness, let writing be the antidote. Say that pure lust is a crime, well, love must be a prison. I have forgotten true love, searching blindly through intimacy. Though, is it truly intimate? To love a perfect stranger. Such emptiness is nearly suffocating. I cannot imagine a love with out chains. May it be that I am mad, simply chaotic, too far gone to save. Or is it the frightening world to blame? Each and every unpromising fool. Even the loom of my fruit abandoned me. Neglect is the kindest form of abuse. I am gently abused, tragically used, but never broken.


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