Complain compile

I push myself, and make puddles, and for a while it clears my head. But only for a while. The work I have on my plate is choking me and I’m afraid I’ve fucked it up, done it wrong. But I guess we’ll see. I guess we’ll see. Words on top of words. It all blurs and I’m so sick of writing empty bullshit. But it’s money. Money is money is money and I need it. Sleep is far from me but circling closer like a shark. I don’t want to let it bite because I know tomorrow is going to be more of the same. And right now I’m close to free. Originally I was thinking of going to see my parents tomorrow night but I think I have too much fucking work. I dunno… We’ll see how it all goes. 


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