10*9*01 Leaves no trace
I told myself two hours ago I would stop wasting time on this box that only harvests putrid thoughts. But of course I don't listen, so the shitty thoughts age like fine wine. My breaths are short, and I feel like I'm going to die, but it could all possibly be for the better. I'll skip my inhaler, my escape to days more of life.
regress /progress
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