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surv

Survivors.

That’s what they call us.

The victims are our friends, the boys and girls whose death certificates say checked out at their own hands, eaten alive and consumed by pain, their ascent to the afterlife aided by drugs or grog or knives or ropes or simply submersion in sullen seas of pain.

They are gone, and I’m still here.

I’m a survivor.

Fuck it feels good.

So hold on here we go
Hold on to nothin’ we know
I feel so lonely
Way up here

It’s like I told you
Only the lonely can play