Just Another Maniac

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18
I sit around all day Counting clouds like cutaways I pull my hair out, strand by strand I make excuses that catch in the dripping pan I have not been to school this year Piled all my books in the fire and watched them disappear I paint my face with foxes blood I do what I feel, and ignore what I want How can it be somehow so essential That I'm here? I don't see the sense