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I find myself unwillingly slipping into meaningless hours of endless pacing- back and forth. Emanating into the nothingness of the numbers on the clock. Day upon day I am nothing but tightened muscles on a tired body waiting for the arrival of sundowns captivation. Night upon night spent awake, and weary. I lay weeping, pondering pessimistic ideas. Sometimes I imagine behind closed eyelids- my pillow rests cold waiting for the meet of snores, in the place where one’s head shall rest. In waves of imagination branches grow from ears, and lay flat- inked into the pillow. I am metal, a computer to be used, and broken. But to be fixed, and used again.





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