Rest in Peace

I want to rage and scream into the night. Throw my fists up and fight. What does it mean when even the golden ones feel like they can’t go on? When did all hope disappear, and when did this emptiness become so huge and overwhelming? I feel dull inside. Broken and incomplete. You couldn’t go on, but we must. We must. We must carry on somehow.

Goodbye, Mister.  Goodbye.

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