I’ve been stabbed by dead moments too often to hear the depths of my own voice driving to keep purpose loud and clear.

What would it mean to hear all?

How often is it true what one wills for them self?

How seldom is truth far below the surface.

What’s a will like this doing in a wasteland of misfits?

No one is where they want to be. 

Not a single one is satisfied. 

Be who you ...

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