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They are dead, for they have no dreams.
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- Dec 28, 2024
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On Saturday night, Chad is out racking up his 827th body with his large neurotypical friend group at a neurotypical location, or baking cookies with his loving girlfriend in their neurotypical house full of neurotypical decorations. He doesn’t feel an ounce of regret, fear, or self-hatred, because of the way his environment seems to affirm him no matter what path he sets on. Everything seems to just work out fine. Must be luck.
I emerge from the sewers, drenched in grime and dirt. I wipe away the rotting waste from my eyes, just so I can gaze into the sun-stained sky. I could have flown if I was born with wings.
I emerge from the sewers, drenched in grime and dirt. I wipe away the rotting waste from my eyes, just so I can gaze into the sun-stained sky. I could have flown if I was born with wings.
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