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Dis Order

This order of disorder has me on my tip toes, avoiding cracks, not in fear of breaking my mother's back, but in fear of a bad thought coming true. This order of disorder has me setting the volume to lucky numbers and tapping the desk until it drowns out the sound of tears drip dropping upwards and filling my body. I had a tumor last week and now I'm dancing on my feet. My hair is thin and falling like leaves off trees. I wish there was a speed limit near the roads in my head so the thoughts could get tickets and maybe they'd stop or slow down for one hour. Sometimes I step out, not out of the house, but step out of my skin to see myself gray and staring into space. I'll get sick if I eat, I'll get sick if I don't. I'll get hurt if I leave, I'll get hurt if I stay. Sometimes it's quiet, sometimes I'm laughing, and sometimes disorder is out of order. Sometimes I'm free, sometimes I'm asleep, and sometimes that's the same thing. Disease is me; disorder is life.






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