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1 He sits on his counter, Advil in hand

(8 he hopes it will kill him; 

0 he hopes they'll understand...

0) he swallows what he's holding,

2 and hopes the lights will dim,

7 there's too much he can't endure

3 at least that's what he says - 

8 what he means is that it hurts,

2 and his life is too much stress,

5 he tries to fix it all;

5 the number in his phone can't fix what he's just done,

1 (800) 273 - 8255

only works if you hit call.

This poem is about: 
Me

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