Tell me a secret, confess to me a sin, take back a lie, tell me you despise me, tell me you want me, tell me what you feel, tell me why you cry, tell me what where when how why. Tell me something you haven't told anyone else. Let down you walls once and abuse the priviledge of anonymity and whisper a secret in my ear. It'll be safe here. I promise
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I cant even admit it to myself.
Because every thing is much better.
When every thing is wrong.
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I don't think there is anything actually wrong with me, i made it all up.
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Things like this make me think I'm really a wanarexic also. If I complain so much, why am I still doing this?
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