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i can crack the mirror in a blink of an eye no blood, i wonder how i changed it so quickly, i wish i had time   this hair, it isn’t mine,
I want to exist in the real worldTo plant my rootsTo hear the life of summer dawns and dusksTo see the flowers growing through sidewalk cracksTo smell the passing waft of freshly cut grassI wish to be real
addled and broken a heart still outspoken another hazy day someone, break down the curtain!   playing out a part, like a puppet on a string a bird without its legs must rely on its wings
dreamcatcher, dreamcatcher catch me a dream a pretty, shiny, lovely thing a siren song that gleams let it cover up the ugly parts the mismatched cloth and clumsy stitches shoved underneath the bed to hide
I am plucking my feathers again. You say it's a stress response. Maybe one day I'll pluck enough of them that my mind won't fly away anymore. I'll be grounded here with you.
All my life I’ve been around Niggas who think they can take something  From me My skin Rips at the sight of them Their teeth
The mind can disconnect from the body when it is too painful to be in our vessel. Almost like a complete decapitation of the head, but the body is still of use. Now why would a person do that?
detached from myself I need another to fill me still alone but useful still alone but in the center   each action has a reaction giving each move a purpose a reason a care  
The oaks outside my window frame Shift gently in the breeze Like they’re waving good morning  To the hopeless romantic with torn jeans  
floating above myself watching me watch myself
my mind is an airplane      when is it going to land? searching in the sky for life's biggest question      when is it going to end?
the fog will fade away and turn darkness into light
behind my eyes there is a person longing for connection with the body they are in
the cause of this is like stars bursting in the night impoding to escape from reality stuck in a natural galaxy
Some days are nothing but black Fighting a battle in endless fog Seeing nothing, hearing only pitiful static   Some days are nothing but black Nights bring emptiness, fading wordlessly to fog
Is there a point to all this? Some sense of release hidden behind years of Doubtful ventures into nothing.   Can I outstretch these fastened wings, And search for some greater feeling,
Listing. Go up.
driving down the highway with nothing but my sanity barely clinging to reality staring in my vanity chasing after clarity
She stares at the blank page Then at the far wall ”We’re all mad here,” it says Whispering Yelling Beckoning I feel so small A tiny version of myself Balled up inside
How does the narration convey the idea that Meursault is a simple man to the reader? He’s not  He’s not  He’s not He’s not He doesn’t have access his emotions He’s taking it day by day
A year ago I had been frozen. The frigid frost had seeped into my mind, Spread into my heart no matter the obstacle I had set before it And I could not stop all my senses from becoming numb to the world.   
Soft pattering on the roof,A steady blanket of feather-light rain bathes my house.The dark periwinkle color peeking in through the blinds;It's safe.  Paws padding softly over to the window,
My wrist, formless, shifting and breaking like a cloud;You grab hold, tightly--too tightly,And I vaporize before your eyes.  
i will never know how to breathe without pain there will always rest a parasite in the wrinkles of my brain speaking in code to my uterus and to my esophagus, this "being human"? i'm bad at this
It will be gone b
It is a dense fog As thick as pea soup Struggling to suffocate me Eyes unable to see mere inches ahead   It is a storm cloud overhead  Ominous and dark Filled with rain about to drown me
you can lose yourself in nothingness if you want to   the number of times i've done it myself are countless   in the nothingness you are numb and feel nothing
I was on my computer talking to some chick I barely knew. I can't remember the conversation, but it was a nice chat. She was surprisingly friendly.
I cannot breatheI am desperateI need you to speak.
These hands can create Works of art.
You act like you can't stand the sight of me
Of the train according to the front, after the order of 1000 suns cry eyeball - can all combustion terrace.
Aforetime another wretched night Many a tempest raged the Heavens And One sat vacantly in that rocking chair Her thoughts a bleary cloud Continuously a flurry of reasoning
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