It is cold every day even though the sun burns my skin.
I am sick to the core even when I have my health.
Weary whenever I smile, uncomfortable when I laugh.
I am distant when I am close, running when I've stooped.
O death where is thy sting?
Here, now, always.
What do I do when everything feels like its killing me, every strand of me. How do you live when the stench of death fills the air....
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