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Like an enduring, somber reverie, every day plays out the same. I wake up, I eat, and I sit. When it gets late enough, I take a pill, and wait to fall asleep again. And once more, I am awake to continue this endless habit. I feel as though everything around me is moving, and I am still. Everyone is loud, and I am silent. Why do I thirst? Why do I hunger? |
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What am I thinking? What am I thinking? What am I thinking? I'm thinking that I just found a snowman that sings and dances up here. He's big and tall, and he decorates pines. He glistens and shines, with his big carrot nose. His buttons are soft, and his snow is packed tight. Garland is even strung at his sides. I hope that it is just as enjoyable on your end of the axis. |
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Every night, as my muscles repose, and my breaths relax, and my perception clouds, I begin to lose my grasp. And in that moment, I envision the most monumental of things. But in the morning, nothing. |