What is it that I come here for?
I do not belong here...
I belong out there, fighting each fight and crying each night.
But here I sit.
Rotting away as my mind ceases to function as sharply as I would want it to.
Incessantly restless and it aches me.
It aches me to look at this.
As I write it, I feel my hands bleed.
There is no pain.
Only numbness.
There is nothing here.
I believe I shall retire.
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