My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. (a bunch of poems)
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Saturday, June 27, 2015
Worth dieing for?
Nothing I write....
Is worth dieing for.
Is it worth....
living for?
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