I don’t remember being in the medicine cupboard, or grabbing the numerous bottles stored within it. I want to stop – it’s like I’m being controlled by someone else. They want me dead. They want me gone. They want to eliminate the middleman. Everyone wants me dead. I guzzle every last pill then toss aside all the bottles – the glass of water smashing on the kitchen floor. It’s like a demon is sitting on my chest, telling me to go to the boat, to lie on it and watch the moon and the stars. It rocks beneath me. The stars aren’t visible with the clouds. The moon hides behind trees. This really
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