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There was nothing to write, and no reason to write it so it all seemed to work out well. And I can't stop as paragraphs turn into pages, and pages into books. and books into life. Where no one understands the camera is on mute. Here I go, I feel so far away. Away form things that I used to live. I see, and hear, and feel the same. but something doesn't fit. My body cleaches in the heat. The heat rises to nothing. Nothing is what everything seems to be. Overdose, undertake. I'm on my way out anyway. no one cares. No one. Don't kid me, the gun sticks to everything. I can't write anyway. My works don't matter. I don'tmatter. good night.