Nothing is forever. This applies to lovely things too. Especially those. Happiness and joy are fleeting memories more than they are emotions. Objects and lives we do our best to cherish are all a flash of light that is in a hurry to vanish before we even recognize the dissipating moments of bliss.
All that is must come to an end. Despite how good or bad it once was how refreshing and depressing the brevity of existence seems to be for now, at least. Those who believe that I do not bleed have never seen the wounds, have never cleaned the bandages, and overlook the scars that remain. The heart on my sleeve bleeds vermilion—crimson and cocaine residue.
This much I am certain: I am full of wounds, yet remain standing on both feet. Curious about what happens next? You find other troublemakers. Hopefully richer ones.
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