hiding out from the world in the bottom of a well
can't take care of myself while i'm stuck in hell
i hear the whispers, are you talking 'bout me?
maybe if you visit i won't feel as lonely
you grab the bottle by the neck and drink it down
swallow all of your fears until you hit the ground
wearing clothes that you've worn since three nights ago
and the last time you prayed, heh, you don't know
days only linger and the nights are all blurs
you might have called me last week, but i'm not sure
give me a moment, i think i'm all right
i might not recover, but i'll stay out of sight
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My writings and poems
I don't think i'm a good writer. I don't even think I'm good at anything, and if you want to waste your time reading these so called 'poems' go right ahead. I'm just sorry they're not as great as I would like them to be.
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