many fund gone ashtray
dont care
dont know
minding the heart
sewing the broken part
just being alone in the corner
screaming silently
death staring the emptiness
hollowing the crowd
calling all the thrown away
to the forgotten
to the one that got away
gathering in the garden of thorns
squeezing all the excessive ones
the ones that always gte more and more
much more than the others
getting jealous of the nothingness
stupidity taking over
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