The Journal of Christopher Shin

07/16/2008 09:15 a.m.
Most of the nights I drink the bottle down, and like a simple thought I turn around and think about all the draining hopes. They compound me, and each port seems so distance and hostel. No piece of redemption comes, and I feel that the winter bones are no longer mine to control. Heart breakers and broken souls linger past me, and I brush against them. I stare enviously cause I know the broken can mend, but what about me? What happens to the broken whose pieces are scattered to the distant wind? What happens to those who never belonged, and will never see familiar lands? I just don't know anymore, and my friends become strangers. My salvation has closed it's door and turned on the no vacancy. I'm slowly losing my hopes and their small like tic tacs. My hands just can't pick them up anymore. I'm frustrated and I just want it to get beter some how some way.

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