TW: I Want Out.

I want out.

I don’t want to do

anything anymore.

The cameras I collected

and took pictures with

were in my cabinet,

collecting dust.

The guitar;

I play,

for only about 3 minutes,

maybe once a week

The Melodica I bought

I played for a few days

then dumped it under my bed

Even the loudest beat

of my drum kit

I cannot hear.

I want out.

Out of my life.

I failed.

Again.

So please, please,

let me out.

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