I)
I complain about my life,
About how i don't have anybody
And I look in the mirror at my scars,
And pick at my scabs,
And I think;
Who could ever want this?
II)
I don't feel like myself.
I can't see straight
And I like it.
And nausea comes in waves
And between them I'm ok
And I forget about it all;
About her, about them,
And I can write then.
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