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He should be. One bad day, and there will be a sawed off shotgun in his face or blunt five pounds of Semtex under his bed. I need help. There is one person that could help, but she blunt won't. I need to find someone else. I think I love her, but she could never love me. I don't know why I try. writing:"Killers start sad and crazy" Oh fuck. I sound so pitiful. People would laugh at this if they read it. I hate being laughed at. But they won't laugh after they're scraping blunt parts of their parents, sisters, brothers, and friends from the wall of my hate. Please. Someone, help me. All I want is something small. Nothing big. I just want to be happy. End. New day. Today of all days, I ask her to help me. I was shot down. I feel like my heart has been ripped open and ripped apart. Right now, I'm drunk, so I don't know what the hell is happening to me. It is clear that no one will help me. Oh God, I am so close to killing people. So close. I gave her all I have, and she just threw it away.
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