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Cortisol in place of blood


My Anxiety is something cryptic and vile, something that quivers with primal conscience and snaps if you get too close. It’s weaved its way between my fingers, into my pores, around my lungs like a network of vessels, pumping cortisol in place of blood. It had worked its way into my conscience so delicately that I couldn’t differentiate it from rational thought, and so rather than accept that my entire being was flawed, I followed it blindly.

Mix for a WIP game, 1365:

20 tracks
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