When I die, I want to decompose in a barrel of porter and have it served in all the pubs in Dublin.
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Friday, February 10, 2012
let the night go on.
reaching out,
constantly.
screaming to be saved.
no one feels like being
a hero today.
music blasts somewhere and
the smell of alcohol
permeates the hall.
i feel desperate, but
it seems everyone else feels
fine.
i stop reaching,
reclusive.
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