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{"I detest you, I hate you with my all.
I despise, abhor, and loathe you for evolving me into a fatigue of desperation for you; the anguish, the hysteria to feel treasured by some other commodity, venture it, feel it quaver and shudder in my bones, let it char my indisputable body. Permit me to bristle and extend my arms like the dangling of cloaks as far as it could go, let the currents envelop me, carry me away shall it? Though expectancies eradicate us, it is not only the men, but every soul to trudge this planet with their bare feet. It is as if they testify to the Creator to never keep their oaths. These humans, we despise these with the falsehoods that evacuate from their insolences, yet their words tie a knot in our souls.
I cannot even gauge at anybody else but you, it’s only been you. 
Not me, you. 
We lose ourselves in the process of loving. And The aftermath of a devastating war with you feels empirical, something I never expected. Everybody concedes, that we await with anticipations of anguish, 
I woke up one dawn, to morn was it. And all was, is vacant. My riots ultimately nullified and distinguished me from a commodity. My body gleams, surreal, this isn’t valid, I have never felt the soles of my feet lift from the cemented sidewalks; Internet affinity; conceivably the was the uprising trouble, but after hours of tricking myself, there frankly wasn’t. My brain felt shifted, and my breathing became jagged, abrupt actualization fleeting into me. Upon everything, I flung the device that settled on the inside of my palms and clasped in my cries with a fist sealed upon my maw. 
Everybody was fast benumbed, dreaming the mythical likelihoods; while I was wakeful and the upheaval sufficed after hammering away. 
He who does not exist, we never traversed paths, I don’t utter and emit his name in my slumber, all wasn't tangible, genuine. Denial, deprivation, bargain. I deny that he ever caught me from the bottom of the trenches and devoted me from myself. He never existed, he never stole my heart and imprisoned it, but yet, I could feel, and all else was real. 
Unlovable, Unlovable. I torment myself and draw myself to the ledge, I dance in the seas of my hurling sentiments and await my demise. 
We stand on the ledge of the pedestal and tender it in our sanities as a log on the ridge of the waterfall, created to seize us away. 
And so we beg the jury alike our own beliefs, 
to Bring the end of our own, 
Existences, Sentiments, and Feverencies.’}
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