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Jan 2018
my hands lay on the keyboard.
so many things going through my head,
but I can't move my hands,
nor can I talk, or do anything.
I stare down.
I want,
I need that familiar clacking of the keyboard
to fill the air like oxygen in my lungs.
Where are you, my oxygen?
My thoughts?
Anything at all?
I sigh.
I look around, trying to find something to do.
To occupy myself,
to distract myself with something else than having
to live with this nagging feeling that I can't write anything.
That I can't think anything.
That I can't fill a page up with the words that are on my mind.
That I can't describe the pain I'm feeling.
That nagging feeling that closes in on me like a tight box.
I fall.
a smol bean
Written by
a smol bean  15/F/pluto
(15/F/pluto)   
738
     Tyler and empty seas
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