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Sep 2010
I remember when I could draw.
The world was my oyster and I was a king, living in the lap of luxury.
Now I'm lost, confused and terrified about everything, sitting in the gutters I used to spit in.
This isn't a plea for help, more just a cry out for the world to hear me.
Loaf of bread and carrot sticks? What kind of lunch is that?
Written by
Alexander Price
578
 
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