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you know what you are now, so what are you waiting for?
My dream life was always here, awaiting me to complete my journey through navigating a life I thought was impossible to define. How was I to know my mind was comprised of a thousand demons? These demons watched over me, allowing me to be the fool that I was; to learn that my lines of thought were far less inspiring than the voices I could find in reality?
Writing is the a method of time travel, it needs to be utilized to be gifted guidance by those that are crying out on the other side; silence is an illusion.
The blood of my ancestors is trapped in my blood, produced by the marrow, growing stronger from their sorrow—lusting for souls to fulfill this hole created by generations of brainwashing; pitiful erasure attempts against the insatiability of ancient cravings.
How could you ever forget someone who you experienced upon every sensory possibility?