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ptsd

Irony is a malicious art-form. It’s shocking and sneaky and dripping with deceit.
Is it a karmic curse? Do I deserve to be toyed with like a worn out voodoo doll?
Did I ask for this? All the years of not caring at all.

Putting myself in harms way begging to be struck. 
Dancing around the fire drunk with a lust for self-sabotage.
And escaping fate every single time. 
It seems like a bad-joke ...

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