I always knew I had the talent of self-immolation (look it up, pyro enthusiasts) when things turned bad, but boy, I think today may have been a record when it comes to really, really fucking things up.
So to speak.
I can't even seem to fully wash the perfume smell off, or perhaps it's a psychological thing.
Christ.
A line uncrossed for two years and I crossed it.
At least it was intentionally and fully mechanical only, impersonal actions for the purpose of... revenge?
Sad.
Oh Christ.
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