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Nov 2020
The world warps
And goes fuzzy around the edges
Like I am not real,
A place holder or chest piece.
My limbs do not move like they are mine,
As if they are foreign bodies attached to my trunk.
The floor is the only solace.
I melt into the stiff boards and rough carpet
Until the world tilts back and becomes
Whole again.
Written by
PoetFromAnotherPlanet  21/F
(21/F)   
471
   Jeremy Stacy
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