All I crave is a fucking moment of privacy,
Inside my head, inside my heart, inside my damn notebook.
A moment where I can express, write, rage, rethink, rewind, and create.
But... no.
You steal that from me.
Violently.
Your words cut like swords as if you even know what you're talking about.
So keep talking.
Keep cutting.
Keep digging...
I'll be six feet from hell, before you realize I'm gone.
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