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55| All My Tears.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Don’t lose your shit.

Repeat.

The inside of my throat burns. The decomposing of nausea swirls in my stomach, no matter how hard I try to push through it; to fight it.

In some weird sense of thinking, I’m starting to believe that death is the only way out of here. The devil himself refuses to let me go any other way. It’s like a dark cloud is always hovering over my head and the lives of those I care about have been thrust into a cursed game of Russian Roulette.

You never know who will be plucked off next.

But I fight the fear.

I fight the onslaught of panic dispersing across my chest like an inferno and do my best to stay strong; to be the fighter I was born to be.

And it has suddenly dawned on me that the underworld is like a battlefield. It doesn’t matter how many fights you win. It’s winning the war that really counts and right now, Sandro has won many, many fights.

Before my birth, this war had already been raging. It will last forever. Not until a small silver cap
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