tired.

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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