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Nov 6
I don’t know who I am.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not even real.
Not dead, just a little lost.
But very much alive.
Maybe, too alive.
Always thinking
I think until I self destruct
I think until I destroy every bit of reality
Breathing, living, existing.
All for nothing.
But it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I’ve come to accept insignificance.
Processed that there is no true meaning.
Nothing has a meaning.
If there’s no meaning, I can’t truly ruin everything.
With no meaning, comes emptiness but a little peace too.
Maybe I will find contentment in my absolute, utter uselessness.
Maybe, being nothing is okay.
Just some thoughts in my head
The Lonely Remnants
Written by
The Lonely Remnants  18/F/California
(18/F/California)   
  177
     Jane Bell and Darrell Landstrom
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