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Time.
It hates.
I bleed.
Life.
What is Life?
Why should I care?
What the hell.
No remorse.
No regrets.
That's a poem I wrote today. It's called "Tchaikovsky's Grammar Chip." The unappreciated result of another long, meaningless day on this dumb planet.
Some kids at Foster's Freeze laughed at me today. Their hatred feeds me. It gives me the strength I need to keep my creativity aloft.
Sometimes I look at the stars and think, "Damn. How pointless." I know that none of the cool, or "popular," kids ever think about these things.
No one understands me.
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