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I feel perpetually trapped between following the passion and pumping out a rigid form I cannot sacrifice one for it tears me apart and when I give up the passion as much as it only meant as much as I put into me, without it I would become so empty and when I give up the form as much as it drove me to boredom with every day, without it I felt as though I made a mistake If I were to measure myself by the tons of grains I pick apart would I truly be valuable in the end? If I could balance this scale between life and labor then would I find both enjoyable in the end? toughest of decisions require the strongest of wills and I do not have one it's all impulsive and reactionary that regret only comes after the consequences with it I feel perpetually trapped chasing a mundane passion over working a dead end job giving up either would just dour my pathetic existence for when I give up the passion as little as it rewarded me for the efforts, without it I would become so empty for when
yet another Fallout/Fallout Equestria Crossover poem, about addiction.
Published: | Mature
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