I always find that I write more and better poetry when I am in extreme amounts of stress and pain. The world just swallows me and suffocates. I've always had this intense lonliness in my life, that not even Ron could fill. He's a very trustworthy and intelligent guy, and I can talk to him alot. But there is just something not there for me.
Sometimes I feel like I couldn't socially function without a friend like Ron. Which is probably true, and very pitiful. Why can't I just grow up, or something like that? I don't understand!
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Words written by poison hands
Hello, my name is Hemlock. I tend to write poetry and personal feeling in this journal. Your reactions are appreciated.
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