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I can't breathe, I can't sleep,
my words are cement in my mouth, I can't speak,
my lips lock, sentences struggle to break free,
on the outside, hands trembling and shaking,
life thinks I'm ripe for breaking,
that I'm right for the taking,
I turn off, I shut down,
my whole world's been turned around,
hands groping, scraping the ground,
birds out of tune making a pitiful sound,
silent screams and yells build in my throat,
I'm thinking things I don't even know,my face, pale, white as snow,
there's a force that says go,
but life iw a winding road,
so I'm forced to go slow,
Death though, could end this note,
and everything I ever wrote.





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