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Lame

I’m alone on a Saturday night, and getting drunk on rum. I hate the taste, so I have to hold my nose to drink it. I’m depressed, and just want to cry. I miss my friend. We’ve had fights before, and gotten mad, but we made up. I don’t know if that will happen this time.

My anxiety is so bad, that I had a really bloody nightmare. I can’t imagine life without him. I suppose I have to get used to the idea. Nobody ever stays, I should be used to that by now. People make promises that they don’t keep.

I don’t want to be alone right, but I don’t have a choice. I suppose I’ll just go to sleep.

 

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