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I keep having bad Mondays. As i sit at midnight with my write-ups incomplete, Hurriedly noted down to not forget it Not having time to remember it, I'm thinking of all the times my words were my walls.
Words are my form of expression but they're also the walls of my fort I go to when i refuse to talk to anyone. And now I don't remember what i started to write about.
With music tuning me out and when they fail my thoughts take over, i barely identify the pattern.
My life sometimes feels like a ball of yarn that can never be untangled, often rolled around by a cat too arrogant and dead to notice my screams
And I try to find a corner to hide. Try each yarn but I keep going back to the state of numbness. All I wish for your arms around me and for you to wait while i slowly come undone.
There's a fire burning around me and my eyes try to find yours before finding a way out. Foolish of me to think you'd be the rescue team.
And I keep hating every writing of mine, so i offer them to the fire.
Waiting for it engulf me, until all but your eyes is all I can see.