In this town I sit rotting away while time passes, day after day… the same repeating routine. The ever creeping threat of a mental breakdown tapping on my shouler whispering horrible things. The voice talks about my past… my childhood, there’s no distraction strong enough anymore, the thoughts I have are slowly corrupting my soul. It’s almost as if a black clawed hand has gripped my heart and is making me angrier and angrier the harder it squeezes. On some days it’s almost bearable, on others I would gladly watch the world burn. The depths of despair lack of distraction from one’s past can bring is insurmountable and even the strongest men will succumb to their emotions eventually. It’s only a matter of when.

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