The words are write...these things aren't right, they are mere perceptions hiding in the realm of smoke and mirrors.
I hate what I have become.
I need to cut the cancer out but I'm afraid it'll take my heart.
If I could I would run away from this place, from everyone I have even known and go into exile. Find a desert cave and pray for death. Looking in the mirror and seeing how false, how fake I am when I claim to carry and champion Truth...I don't know if it's the disease but I just want to vomit.
This is going to take some serious thought...serious...so serious...
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