I wanted this moment to be magical, to be remembered. But at the end, I’d stick to the ‚classical end’. I thought the beauty was inside the play, and deep story, and hidden deeper meaning behind my death, but suddenly it’s the day i did my first nail, rotted in bed and cried a little bit. Sounds simple, and I rather stick to that. The world is so twisted I don’t recognise myself anymore, the feeling I am living this world with some terrible people who would stick knife into my throat without a single doubt, I rather do it myself.
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