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nothing's left inside.
there's no soul, there's no pain, there's nothing.
i'm only left with a memory of what could have been different.
life is never fair,
there's no other bitter pill than that.
---
and did i forget to mention anger.
sometimes all i see is a pool of blood,
with everyone in it.
i fear i could no longer suppress it.
so this is how psychotic murderers are born.
oh well.
---
have a bloody good day.

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