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I always knew that it was the crazy people who ran the nuthouses. I didn't want to be locked up in one of them while they gave me fake smiles and medicine, as though I was another guinea pig in this fucked up world. It makes you wonder what the others are thinking, whether they're stalking you, or thinking about you at night, or masturbating to a picture of you while you're writing in your diary about how you just broke up with that guy next door. Maybe our thoughts were given to us by some dragonfly who buzzed by, was bored, and decided to watch us kill each other and laugh. You never know these days crimson_fade's Journal
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