Make the bad things good, she said to me. I felt it. The desire to be free from the chains of locked up hatred. Why? Why not? They have taken from us more then imagined and yet somehow we stand strong. There has to be a way to make sense of it all. Maybe there is a plan. Forge the lines together.
Make the good things bad he yelled to me. His pain and suffering reversing polarity. I watch as he crumbles: Ranting about the life which he has. Dying from the foods he eats. Drowning in the drugs he takes. My eyes no longer see the pain of time and change.
I am use to that which is pain.
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