I'm sitting surrounded by nicotine and snail shells, dried and emptied by the summer sun. This is how I planned July, wading through chaos and sinking into self loathing, alone with nothing but my own indecision. I've got a hollow chest that resonates; I've got a heavy head that slides down my neck under your weight. If I could erase these nights, I wouldn't. I need the scars, I need the reminder, I need the memory to keep me moving.
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