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Category: Writing and Poetry

i was sick when i wrote this

catch a cold, catch a hold 

of my scalp, of my soul

let me fall, let me catch

let me catch my breath.

there is the tune I like to play,

a tune that sings once a day,

as the sun sparkles on my window pane, 

early morning warmth, freezing fluffy sheets.

ive caught that cold, ive caught a hold, 

as im standing on our broken home.

as i'm standing… standing… still? 

ice comes and goes, breaks rocks and bones,

there's ice in my skull, holding onto me. 

my nose is wet and running, im anything but cunning, 

words are stumbling, as my heart keeps thumping, 

as im running out of words to say.

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