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I slept in the worst crackhouse ever
the whole experience was simply depression
I don't want to do drugs anymore
I'm no longer bleeding
I wouldn't have gone if my relatives... okay no just my drunk brother in law wasn't cruising for a bruising by calling me dafaming shit for eating noodles with chopsticks
gay shit
it's not that I don't like fighting, I absolutely love it, but I can't guarrantee for myself that I wouldn't pull out a knife just to spice things up