I don't know why I'm here. Writing is supposed to be therapy. But I'm not real. You are not real. Not anymore. None of this is real. You get too close, and it all burns away like ashes from a cigarette. Keep your distance. I promise you will get burned. Don't say I didn't warn you.
- Purgatory
- JoinedSeptember 16, 2016
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Story by Scatter_Flame
- 1 Published Story