Beautiful Hell

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I think I sleep.

I don’t know.

It all seems the same to me.

I try to watch or work at night.

But I often feel like I just want my laptop to keep me company.

I take out my phone to see who I can call.

But its past midnight.

I don’t want my problems to be there’s.

And what will I say?

I barely explain or understand how or what I am feeling.

I feel a war raging inside me.

I know it is my choice to choose which way I should go.

Decisions are the worst and hardest thing to ever happen to me.

So I remain where I am because I am comfortable with what I know.

I am past my addictions but the linger of a smoke,

Feels way better than another’s lips on mine.

But that route scares me so much, I fear I might not turn back.

Music calms me.

It gives a false calmness till I cannot take it anymore.

Then I just lay there, gazing at the ceiling and enjoying the comfort of my walls.

The more I face God the worse it seems to get,

So I write.

Everything feels false.

I end up asking myself if I really did that or if I really did say that.

This is my paradise and my hell.

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