Every fucking day, I have to deal with the pressure I put on myself, to outdo myself. But I can’t ask for help, I can’t admit I’m weak. I’m going back on my words, I’m going back on who I used to be. I can’t take it anymore. Every day I wage a war on myself because I’d rather die than let this win over me. I can’t let this win over me. How can I be expected to help anyone else, when I can’t even help myself? Call me a hypocrite and I’ll be the first one to agree. I am no longer the prophet I once claimed to be. I’m stuck between trying to find where I stand, and what it is I stand for. I am no one.
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|1||Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros|