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you don't need to call it love part 2.

Bye bye, my dearest wilted flower. I cry at night all the time, thinking of you, and it's taking me under. I want to stop thinking, and feeling that this love is the only love I can give. But it is, and there is nothing I can do to completely forgot... your face. Or to fill my heart with someone else's name. Well, at least, I do not have his initials yet.

The closest I can get is pretending. The closest I can get is being vicious. The closest I can get is fucking. I will give myself up to anyone who wants to take me home.

Bring me down towards healing, or a new beginning. I am trapped in the erasing. So, who's here to save me? I am clearly confused. I am empty. Break my legs tonight. I will fix them later, but before that, I want to pin them up on the wall for my own visual pleasure.

Stand aside if I fall.

Be glad that I have the photographs, dear sir.

I cannot forget, or heal.
Therefore, I might as well break myself into pieces.
I have said it many times before: I want to stomp all over your face like how you stomped all over my heart.

Remember, everything is an empty endeavour.
What's life without capacity for anyone else, but for a demon, demon, demon in your past?

Good night, I hope I do not wake up to any sound; I hope I do not wake up at all.