I'm stuck
Talking to my pillow
Late at night cause
I'm scared of silent diatribes
And all I can do is fill up
All of the space
All aware
that I'm deflecting
or is it that I'm projecting
I should have committed
to sleep when I was higher
But now the corners in my room
shake with self-slander
And apprehension grips me like
a shrinking jacket
I'm kicking the sheets
Throwing fits with the sheep
Knowing I'm incomplete
a sketch unfinished unheard unseen
Now I'm hyper aware
Of every nook and cranny
Where a blunderbuss's
Dust amasses
A leviathanian paranoia
that all we ever do is trite
And if that's true,
which it might be,
then we're alone
So I take another hit
As if that will make me feel
better in the long run
7 am and the wind is howling
Now I'm sick of my sloth
But i'm tired of trying
So I have another and another and another and another cup of joe
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