and the mirror is like, as you might have guessed, self examination or reflection in whatever form. this could be vanity or selfloathing, i know i'm guilty of both
about a life, and a girl stuck in a town where nothing ever seems to change, where even the underground clubs lost their appeal, where a glass of red wine meant nothing but stained teeth and a headache the morning after. searching for my own yellow brick road, my very own road to joy, i looked to albion. it will begin ten minutes from camden high street. the only end known to me is the grave.
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