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cr Apr 2018
stress blooming forward
in chest like
erratic butterflies flapping
and thoughts spiraling
down towards
my stomach where
they do not dissolve
in acid, no matter how
i ache for them
to leave me

times when
i think about my
future - they are not
etched in stone, they
are fleeting and temporary and as
miniscule as grains of sand

how could they be anything
more than dust
when the possibility
of any greatness
or worthiness
or meaning
is so
tiny, so
as to not
be there at all
i don't know what i'm doing with my life and i'm afraid it doesn't even matter at all

— The End —