call me jealousy because when i see you go anywhere else i cringe. i must distract myself with young girls and gin, this is not a time to celebrate: this is a time to pound my fist and run my hands through my hair, searching for anything that could stress me out more than your absence. the only possible thing is to clutter my mind enough to push you out, if only for an hour or two. lose my head to gain it. lying to myself to keep from doing something important. i allow myself to be distracted so i don't make our lives better far too soon.
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you're made of magic.
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