Poems and Other Things

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I'm tired.
My body, my mind.

Sometimes, I just wanna rest.
And by rest, I mean chill six feet under ground and lay down a coffin because I no longer breathe.

But I still dream of having my own money and consult a therapist so I could know if I really have mental issues and be properly diagnosed.

But I'd just preferably die. That's way better than to deal with shits.