I've hated all my jobs. But they're something to fill my time so I can fill their pockets and fill myself with cheap food and nights in. I'm here with my scraps trying to piece together my sanity so I can find something resembling happiness. Taping together the things I've collected so I can trick myself into thinking I still have purpose. What is my purpose now? Now that I've hit this wall and the notes aren't flowing and I feel like the truest and deepest love I've ever felt is being stripped from me and replaced over and over with fake smiles and empty "how are you today"s, only to be met by grumps and growls from mouths who followed the paved path and still seem to be as unhappy as I am as I stand behind the counter on my pile of rubble that I've been trying to clear away so I can stand alongside them...on a clear road leading to the same place all roads end.
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