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this is what people do, don't they? leave a note.
Every failure makes us weaker and we wonder if it'd be easier if we didn't fail anymore. We sit back and brandish the gun but we never stop to think why we bother if we're the only one. It's not fair, but neither is life, so we give up our hearts and polish the knife. Mothers will cry and blame themselves and our friends will point fingers at mirrors. But the only fault is ours, the pressure suffocating our chests, and the weight of the world resting on our shoulders. We write our letters in class because we can't imagine our future. The only thing on our minds becomes pill bottles and silver bullets. Hang the wreath on my door and make sure to tell mom that I love her all the same. Don't print my name or tell my story. I don't want the fame. Erase who I was, who I am, and who I could have been. Just make me a number amongst numbers, indeterminable from one another. lovelovelovelovelove abby
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