i want to talk.

but i don’t.


i want to write,

but my muscles won’t move.


outside seems divine,

but inside is just fine.


my mind feels dead,

and i feel locked inside my head.


making friends and meeting people,

but alone can be so much more peaceful.


crunched in one place,

by the surroundings,

i cannot get out of this space.


i’m tired and deprived,

while they act like they’ve thrived.


the bags under my eyes,

are a reminder of the fight.


while coffee won’t help,

in this long night.


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