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Wondering Why I'm So Morbid, I Guess
Honestly -
I can't stop thinking
about it.
Death and
dying; its
glorification.
I don't know what's
wrong with me.
Nothing
fascinates me
more than the
unknown, and
what I'll be.
I could understand
if I only thought
about it
sometimes, but
it's constant, endless.
Like a morbid
excitement.
And I'm left
wondering
what the fuck is
wrong with me?
I can't stop thinking
about it.
Death and
dying; its
glorification.
I don't know what's
wrong with me.
Nothing
fascinates me
more than the
unknown, and
what I'll be.
I could understand
if I only thought
about it
sometimes, but
it's constant, endless.
Like a morbid
excitement.
And I'm left
wondering
what the fuck is
wrong with me?
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