(...) and then he asked her why do you keep looking for the edge? why kant anything be less than irreplaceable with you? why do I have to make it impossible for you to live in order to make you love ME more?
little that he knew, there is nothing but the edge. a long edge of craving, i was abducted by infinitive-ism and i loath normal. there was a small plastic bag with the intestinal remains of a bitter lunch and i can just walk by such a thing because they have all been so great, so grand, so numerous, so out of it. i fit in. anywhere, im so good at everything, i can do it all. im smart and nice, beautiful and warm, welcoming in all of those moments, im a good little cunt, im a catch. and all of those good features just to fuck up your inner self. im not good in and out, i dont know, but nothing that wants to last is forever here. cliché up until you too can fall in love me with me because i taste soooo good. edgy focused bitch. ask the man who gave up a hand for me...
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