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I feel my words have no meaning, yet i feel passion like an inferno beneath my skin. Waves of heat an sweat take over, and I want to scream in prose that would let the world know how I feel. Then once they leave my finger tips they're nothing more than dust, strewn across paper. I struggle to find words that relieve this burning inside of me. Sadness that turns to anger and back again. A Searing feeling, like ice on skin. I want to make sense of these feelings, dissect them and give them purpose. But the meanings are strangers to me, packing their bags and leaving nothing but echoes and flashes of broken memories.
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- 1 year ago
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