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Apr 2018
Maybe it's the alcohol
Running through my veins
Seeping through all of my pores
Invading my skin, crawling,
Leaving a trail of heat and numbness.

Maybe it's my mind
Trying to twist myself into
A wringing mess, unconscious,
Undesirable for the current society
Whose words weigh millions.

Or maybe it's just me.
Overthinking, in a dark room.
Laying there, paralyzed.
Contemplating. Typing. Thinking.


Tap,
       tap,
              tap.


I'm tired.
But I've stopped moving.
Cherisse May
Written by
Cherisse May  F
(F)   
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