everything in my eyes is constantly resistant
consistently forming warmth into hate
misery pushing away all forms of existence
trust is nothing that is part of my fate
traumatic insinuations are common ground for the uprising in personal despair
words go on and on like currency for emotion.
constantly making sense of what isn't real.
holding things that mean nothing
and with that said, all is falsely uplifted
You don't mean a fucking thing and neither do I.
making the growth of inspiration and genuine feelings of warmth no more than a temporary drug in time.
misplaced appreciation leads to emplaced negativity.
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