Christopher John

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I wanted to fuck, then shoot the man who spoke to my mother like a child. I was so afraid of seeing dead people that I saw them everywhere. It was the new age. “We” finally had “our own” war. How can I explain the things and things and things I did wrong? I was never any good at telling the difference between what wanted me and what wanted me gone.
The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On
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