Pandering and impenetrable. Life outside the fortress is cold and distant. The sun that we all revolve around. Inescapable magnetism feels so dry right now.
The one who gives up should be. The one who decides should be. The one who sits idle and away. The ones who drifts idle and away.
Taking token gestures are hollow. There's nothing inside the box. Not a thing to put in here. Just washed out pieces of paper with illegible words disintegrating.
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