The End of Identity

I. I can't not think and see, through OCD my kitchen table with thoughts of fire bursts into flames. Those images, they, keep coming every minute making a friend's movements into a musical. I am not alone by myself the world my unwanted guest my mind, myself. Thoughts played never willed make me wish I could make the world die, to live. I hate to think the world doesn't love me, but fate flows indiscriminately necessarily. I scream unheard in my own head and desire strength to lose my mind. They play I fight and won't go away growing stronger…
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