i feel every single failure

Every single missed opportunity

Like bricks they crush my chest as I lay 10 feet in the ground

The reaper wears my face

as well as the brick layer


A Story of Introversion

I can feel my hands.

As I pace nervously in my bathroom I can feel the grooves in my hands like sandpaper. I rub them together to nullify the sensation but the cold-sweat on my palms only magnify my uneasiness. My hands glide against each other hot, wet and brackish. I am thoroughly out of it.

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