Catch me…

I don’t know what to do with myself but I don’t want to write anything. I want to conceal these thoughts even from my self. Future, past or present. Absent minded in the myre of soggy attempts at playing games with words. It’s starting to make sense why the word academic sorta rhymes with alcoholic. The two are definitely not mutually exclusive. In fact, one of these terms is the most legal means for the former to find some sort of solace in knowing that anything could happen despite all you’ve learned and claim you know. Knock yourself a little off balance, hover next to the tight rope for a second, while freefalling to the next floor. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe…

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Author: Kat the worder

25, m, b, e

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