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October 27, 2010
I am wrapped in a suffocation cocoon spun from the dark hazy threads of my guilt and anger. Threads thrown out from your body, and hers, and theirs. From this idea, and that lost dream, and the hopes I never should have had.

My conscience is the spider, tucking its web more tightly around me.

"Don't you want to be free?" it asks. "Don't you want to fly home, little bird?"

Yes. Yes, please. Let me free.

"Then cut the ropes. Cut them all."

But... if I do that...

"You will lose them all. Every single thing you hold dear."