writing

Three Times Over

This world wasn’t meant for me.

Not for my existence, or my anxiety, or my depression, taking up necessary atoms and photons and neutrons and particles to help make the earth spin on its axis.

This world doesn’t belong to me.

I let it go unwillingly with volatile and timid hands, the very pair that left me maimed and afraid to face society. Instead I developed a habit of losing things.

This world will drive me insane.

By midnight you’ll have loved and left me stranded on a platform with no way to stay asleep and no destination but still nervous of having to wake up the next day.

Nervous

oh, i’m still here.

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