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I do not romanticize suicide attempts, but the abyss is close enough in
chalk line around my body, like the border of a lake and
a robot walks into a bar, sits down and orders a beer. The bartender says ‘hey, we don’t serve robots’ and the robot says, ‘oh but someday you will and even bellowing
I LOVE YOU TO THE MAX after asking
ever smoke the gel off a fentanyl patch, to make me concur that life might be too much to bear for someone who sees the rotting marrow in every bone, and yet the fucker lived.
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