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Hollywood
exhaustion pulls at my bones like a premature vulture except for it I am alone in this desert called pop culture.
Where nobody cares, and nobody calls except when they need cash where everyone lies, and everyone falls and everyone dies in the crash.
The agents are hyenas, scavenging for talent or at least another shooting star while they drain you of your bank balance they assure you they know you'll go far.
Exhaustion pulls on my bones like a neglected addiction of sorts amidst all these mindless SoCal drones I think: Maybe I should go into sports.
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