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Begging for it to stop— doesn't help at all..
I know it's getting bad again—
When the smell of coffee—
no longer excites me,
And talking about it causes pain,
and writing is the only way to stay sane...

Counting the heavy breathes escape— I stare at the door,
Waiting for death to come
And tell me I no longer have to stay awake...



© Just_rheaaa17