from a chair, continuing to fight through writers block

you think i want to feel this way

disgusting and half sure 

clash bangs ringing through my head 

voices disguised 

perhaps that’s the reason masks on strangers, acquaintances, or friends cause me to recoil. yet, they’re always there, the last one of choice without consequence terrifies me. everything else is as it should be. regardless i spent the day wrapped tight striking out to make sure you stay away 

i didn’t push myself out of this position 

it would have been fetal the memory of that is too painful 

there are young eyes observing this dance with demented demons talking, switching, and pounding my eyes. i see you and them and then there’s them steering 

which way to go?

If I were half way between here and there i’d decide based off of where you’re going.

Distracted.

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