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where you can send the letter

i wont even start with my 
	contempts, malnourishments, bouts of anorexia.
i can barely muster a fuck you.
nihilism doesn’t even
scratch the surface in this
state of decay.

so some famous fascist
starts bitching about some 
“pop tarts who think they have a shot at becoming the next julia roberts” (paraphrase).
well try making headway 
down the streets of 
secured families
who have nothing better to do than
become drunks.
whose delusions are so final
everything really is just f i n e.
		peachy perfect.

	for people
	who are much more
	like you than you 
	would ever care to acknowledge.
	or maybe
	it is exactly how much
	you understand their similarity to you
	that compels you 
	to hate them.  
	evenly with the hatred
	you have for yourself.

here are no cute go-goers
only things that never were,
half developed ideas 
	that went rotten
	       while still on the vine.  

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