I have too many feelings to say, nevermind count. My head is greatly filled with poetry and life. I wish that I could escape for just a little while to think and to not think.

Why do I persist on living through my dreams? My false (crazy) reality. Where my ideals will only ever be ideals. Especially when I don’t even like what I see.

I know that to be happy means to be happy with what you have and I would be happy- if I could believe in what I have. If I had faith in people. I don’t even have faith in myself!

 

 

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