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He guts me. He fingers out my insides. He forces me to do things unwilling. He makes me feel like I'm standing on nails with weights on my shoulders. He makes my whole body feel so numb and broken. I hate him. I hate that he made me. I hate that he's always leaving. I hate that he loves his drugs more than me. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

— z.s // excerpts from a book i'll never write // #34

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