Spent. I could complain, but what would be the point? Most of the world wouldn’t blink, and the few who would don’t have the means to really help me. The only attention and care that I can truly look to is my own. I don’t even have to like myself. I just have to do my job.
On one shoulder, I have a demon telling me “You’re useless.” One the other, an angel is telling me “Do your fucking job.”
On one shoulder, I have a demon telling me “You’re useless.” One the other, an angel is telling me “Do your fucking job.”
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