late night hypophrenia reruns
all i see is static
There's a silent sort of sadness
Which takes root at an unfound core of your pulse,
Spreading a black widow's web (invisible) around your limbs
Criss-crossed, tangling, falling,
Crashing inwards into a fallout.
I can't remember when
I lost the feeling in my fingertips,
Or when my knee started shuddering
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