5.8.18

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Floating.

A part of me is slipping away.

The clock's arrows speeding.

Once tight hold loosening

Until I can't feel it. Touch it no more.


Far beyond reach

Far beyond what my mind can comprehend

Blurring

While I'm lying dead-still. Quite Disabled.


Feels like floating.

A part of me lost. Stolen.

All of me dying , except my pen

Writing is my only solace.





//5.8.18//

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