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Fiction is my reality,

I'm a ghost of the zombie I used to be.

Writing is my way to vent,

my words make me scared of myself.


When people look at me,

I try to look alive.

A smile, a glint of humor in my eye,

but it's only for disguise.


Give me something to hold on to,

even if it's just a fraction of a feeling.

'Cause I gave up a long time ago,

It's you that keeps on hoping.


It is enough,

you hoping for the both of us?

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