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Lock-Down MillionaireI don't know how to playand I don't know how to feelThat might have something to do with these pillsI don't know how to addand I don't know how to countSo they wrote me off as super smart somehowEmpty eyed bloody wrist Southern heirCredit card minimized lock-down millionaireI come from the stock marketThere's tinfoil on the windows but I still can't sleepNobody cares about the budget I keepI can't say I care.I don't know how to workand I don't know how to loveYou don't know who you just took that photo ofI don't know how to sleepand I don't know how to eatSo they locked me up and I cut my wrist with the keyEmpty eyed bloody wrist Southern heirCredit card minimized lock-down millionaireI come from the stock marketThere's tinfoil on the windows but I still can't sleepNobody cares about the budget I keepI can't say I care.
Suicide Hotline Butterfly .ch1.Suicide Hotline ButterflyI was rolling around in my swivel chair at the night-shift at the Suicide Hotline center, Butterfly, in our little city in Louisiana. We usually got more calls on the weekends and it was only a Wednesday so I was quickly restless. On nights like these, when you finally get a call, the ringing of the phone can really jar you.“Robin,” I heard from the door. I alerted myself and looked behind me at my supervisor, Daniel. He's a thin man in his mid-thirties, blonde hair usually but right below the ears. He avoids contact with me whenever possible.“Yes sir?”“Did Caleb clock in? I didn't see him today.” Caleb was my coworkers at the crisis center and he was very uptight about being on time for absolutely everything. And his desk being perfect. And the stock market. My list could go on...“No, I haven't seen him either,” I responded. I really didn't feel like being torn out of my daydreams to worry about Caleb.