Really tired of the same fucking routine. Every Tuesday go to work get off at four. Every fucking Tuesday I sit at the first table by the window, you can't miss it. It's the first one you see when you walk through that blue door. It's baby blue like his eyes...and to my surprise those eyes were once mine. Now those eyes are dead. They've been burned and now sit in an urn that hugs the table at the foot of my bed. You're dead. Why'd you have to die? CAN ANYONE FUCKING HEAR ME. I MISS THOSE BLUE EYES....I'm so sick of seeing oceans so deep and so blue. Every ocean I see reminds me of you.....
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18.Writing for the sake of writing.
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