43

A pathetic being.

The air is getting heavier and it’s closer and I’m starting to sway. And the hands on all my shoulders don’t have names and they won’t FUCKING go away. Why won’t they go away?

I’m starting to laugh like an animal in pain with the lights and the lies in my eyes and the colour and the music’s too loud and my head’s all the wrong size.

Where this is, who I am, why THE FUCK I’m keeping this going?

And all the smiles that i wear, and all the games that i play, and all the faces that i make, and all the shapes that i throw, and all the people i meet, and all the words that i know, makes me sick to the heart, I FEEL SO FUCKING TIRED.

This is it I’ve become. Moving, yet immobilised.

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