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Misery is...
Crouched down in a dark corner, with my head between my knees. Hurt beyond pain in a continuous cycle. Sadness invisible, but truly suffering. I live a life of moisten cheeks and my pillow so damp with tears, I have to flip it over. Crying is routined for me sadly. Black and white memories race through my thoughts. Screaming and yelling out of anger and pure rage. And him feeling a since of control... of the world... of me. But I'm not a puppet, you cant pull my strings to make me work. I'm weak and I'm frail, and I have feelings as well.

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