A letter to my readers,

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To whomever reads this chapter,
Hello.
I suppose you're reading these first few paragraphs in order to find out whether this I worth reading or not. I suppose it's up to you, you may skip this or not. I won't know.

As a poet, artist and person, I've felt weaker than ever. My anxiety and depression has taken over and I'm not sure how much of my genuine nature is left. My purity is gone, as well as my will to walk on the pathway through life. However I am still here, so fear not. I have returned in hope that the old routine of literature-self expression will kill off any parasitic negativity. If this doesn't work I have no other options.

With all this said, I am still here. Assuming someone out there cares for my mental/emotional health, be assured I am fine enough to stand properly. My heart still beats and my hands still hold the ability to create. It is just my mind that is suffering. I pray that peace will find me in some shape or form.

Please don't cry.

Sincerely yours,
A.A

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