My body scares me.
Millions of tiny movements under
my skin.
Harsh.
Vibrating
right out of me.
Like my skeleton attempting
to escape the violence
of my simple existence.
I feel I lost all meaning.
Maybe, reality too.
Isn't that expected when all days look
the same and panic attacks taste like bile
no matter the hour?
The ticking of the clock has been
a metaphorical act for a while now.
I'm metaphorical too.
I'm human but not.
My blood
like oil,
thickened.
A trade off for an extra year
like this.
For this silence.
In the end it all comes down so much
to this one singularity
turned obsession in my thoughts.
I'm afraid I'm disappearing.
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