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Dear Friend

By
My stomach turns,
as my brain yells.
My lungs burn
as my mouth has lies it tells.

The traditions are breaking.
I'm starting to feel sick.
The spirits are shaking.
I need to get out of here real, real quick.

"I'm not proud of you", you say.
Please, just let me be.
I need to start tomorrow and forget today.
What happened to the real me?





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