My days are often too dark, with my nights… My nights often being too empty. It's in those silent times deception comes as reflection. The empty conversations and pointless distractions that never fill the empty space in those hours. It's only the words that spill from veins as I slit open the mind that holds them back. It's not the will to speak them I lack. It's the skill, the tongue ties itself into knots and for all the meaning I could confer is lost to the stumbles and trips of the mind racing faster than lips can move.


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