I can breathe, but I can't feel.

How many times must I mess up before i get it?

I want to have my cake and eat it too.

The glass is half full but i want to empty it.

My optimistic pessimism is the etilogy of my disease.

The prognosis is self destuction, hurting the ones closest to me on my senseless path.

The hook is sharp to the touch.

The slightest prick will immediately separate your molecules.

Going through so fast preventing blood loss

but providing immense pain.

The bait is seet sugar sweet.

So tempting, so erotic, so sexy yet so deadly.

What the fuck is wrng with me?

I love someone.

But I desire another.

In senseless times like these, self indulgence can only make sense.

Its a trick, a test of love.

A test I musn't fail.

A test in which I'm unprepared.

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