Draft.
Money bought be materialistic distraction with no real fruition. The pandemonium of my heart is set alight. A feeling of congestion among these four vacantly white walls. The consolation I sought after is no longer there, hence the amplified suffocation of my immediate surroundings. I want to scream into the wild. Scamper into the discrepancy of shadows. Absolve into nothingness. Redeem my innocence and diffuse into space. I feel nothing.
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