Why am i so angryy 😹 (tapeworms on my penis 2)

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((Bro writers block have this filler))

Warnings:

Schizophrenia/ptsd

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Schizophrenia/ptsd

Schizophrenia/ptsd

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Derealization

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Everything on that page was circled. "See, they're following us! Al isn't dead! He isn't!"

The page was thrown down onto the table. I hadn't seen him for a week at this point and this is all he talked about. "He's still out there Robin. He sits in his van and watches me too. But he has this other person."

He was disorganized, everything seemed so untouched in his room. It felt like it was rotting. Everything was on the floor, the wallpaper, in which he had to fix every week with a brand new box of tape was off the wall at this point.

"He's not there." I said, cleaning the many markers thrown upon the table, wax from mini candles were on the desk. "No I uh." I asked myself. He shook his head, his curls were messy, but they still bounced along with his movements. "No, no you don't get it! You don't get it!" He pointed again. "That's him, that's what he's like." He pointed to the paper again, I couldn't make out the drawing really, a car?

"You killed him, finney! He's dead! The cops made sure!"

He was far past crying at this point. "How do you not see it?" He asked, he analyzed his own work on the table. "How do you not see this, it's all right there." His fist hit the table again. I was unsure on how the wood didn't break.

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