The dive...just a bee hive filled with honey. Loss of money and wasted time has me thanking crime I don't need to work for this sh*t. Makes me think I've blown it. If only I'd known it maybe I would've done different...maybe not. Spilt milk curdled, the blonde, the brunette now hurdled doesn't mean sh*t without flame. It's all just the same. The same that came for me when I thought to feel the real and found empty. So if here is a cry for plenty then why oh why call this "indifference" on my pieces list? Because maybe I no longer give a sh*t if you walk or sit, swallow or spit...if you stick around...or even quit. Maybe I'm just over it...
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