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It sits in the chair I left empty, whispering words I try not to hear. Sometimes it tells me everything that is wrong with me, like a hiss that wraps around my ribs. Sometimes it roars out of my mouth, a scream that tastes like metal but only when I am alone. Its claws scar the curvature of my mind, and I can feel its breath in the hollow of my chest. Even the silence carries its voice, persistent and endless, a weight I cannot set down.
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Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 9:18 AM UTC
Depression
It sits in the chair I left empty, whispering words I try not to hear. Sometimes it tells me everything that is wrong with me, like a hiss that wraps around my ribs. Sometimes it roars out of my mouth, a scream that tastes like metal but only when I am alone. Its claws scar the curvature of my mind, and I can feel its breath in the hollow of my chest. Even the silence carries its voice, persistent and endless, a weight I cannot set down.
hannahthepoet
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Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 9:18 AM UTC
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