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# 4
I often can't look ahead or
Raise my head
My ears are echo chambers
Of my own thoughts
And I'm alone in seas of people
And I'm alone inside my head
And the things I can't see or
Hear
Haunt my every waking moment

There is a
Distortion
Blurred edges and
Foggy faces and
Wispy noise

I am made through hazy
Word and indistinct margin
The world shakes in constant
Unwavering vertigo and
Senseless dread

There are layers of logical leap
Between me and reality
And the ever present assurance
Of an unshakeable paranoia
Ingrained in these bones
Rooted in this rotten mind
Relentless and
Cruel

I measure word by letter
And pause
By pause
By broken
Shattered vowel
Fragmented me
Makes a world of
Fitful lines and
Stuttering paragraphs

There is a reason
There should be
Reason
Among the static maze of
Dead-end thought and
Wandering monologue
I should build pattern
To situate unreality
Between the comprehensible
And the shouting dissonant
Make maps of insanity
So I won't lose track of it
And call it paranoia
While I can still discern it

The isolation of the spiral
And the cycle within it
Are bound to make of me a
Puzzle of chaotic echo
That has strayed so far away
From normalcy
That if I ever come to
Escape this
I know there is no longer
A single place out there
That'd take me in

And this only pads
The walls of my
Imprisonment
And tells me I
Won't ever
Ever
Leave


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