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Dec 08, 2008
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Ill
I get ill through the same means I create happiness.Darkness fills my eyes.And then I die.The man with a gun to his face, disgraced, by no itchy trigger finger.Guts often prevail and the gun clicks.The poor man must create extravagant means to kill oneself.
— bloke, Dec 08, 2008
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Critiques
infinite_dwarf
17 years 6 months ago
wow, that's dark
bloke
17 years 5 months ago
thank you
Conect11
17 years 4 months ago
walks a thin line