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It’s like you can’t get enough of it. You need more, no matter how much of it you consume. It drives you. Nothing is as important as it. An addiction beyond what the mind can process.

Things get ominous without it. Anything that happens is because you are without it. Break your skull – it’s because you don’t have it. Hate your friends – because you don’t have it.

It’s as if you’ve turned into a void, sucking in everything negative, just to throw it back out of you in rage. Just because you don’t have it that moment.

Oh but when you have it.

It’s perfect. No, better than that. Perfection is envious of the feeling going through you when you have it. Like your soul caught fire and is burning in bliss the color satisfaction. Nothing has ever been, nor will ever be, even comparable to the feeling of having it. Of consuming it. Oh, the feeling, it’s… overwhelming. Addicting.

Having a brain to feast on. It’s glorious.

                But, we’re running out.

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