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No Wishes for Succor

Dylan and The Dead

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i should probably let you know what you're getting yourself into.

my own name sounds strange to me. on my lips, there is no familiarity. and when i speak it, there is no ring of truth.

i wish that i could be the sort of person that speaks her own name triumphantly... like a war cry i would announce my name and they would all recognize my spirit. they would know me. wouldn't they?

how can it be that we are forgotten from life to life? shouldn't i remember?

my third eye won't open.

heh, i'm not special. i'm special just like everybody else. so we're all in this darkness together fumbling towards the light.

this journal is full of emo shit. it's pretty unapologetically self-indulgent. it's a journal. bite me.

oh yeah, and it's friends only... so comment to be added.

you've been warned.