Broken man
Blood on the fingers
Rape of the soul
Rotting heart
and sad eyes
A way to grieve
the death of love.
I have broken all my toys
and forgot how to play.
A loaded gun to my head called life.
"I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often." — Charles Bukowski (Tales of Ordinary Madness)
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