Thursday

Moments like these are fleeting

but I can’t see ahead:

the fog is much too dense

and these shackles are a bit crippling

the way they keep me weighted down

Bobbing below the surface

where my vision is skewed, and where

I’m mere inches from clarity

but common sense is like a mass

hugging my vital organs

and I would do anything to feel like

my lungs were mine again,

like I had time again

If I weren’t so consumed in

my own self-pity

I might find solace in screaming

but my throat is raw,

and starving of words once again

A sense of expression that I’ve been without

for months again

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