scene: there are two reworded routs—
one short, one shorter.
my feet are sore, and my short breaths cannot
carry me through these jungles of mumbled
free-falling words.
the same words, kept and unkempt,
keep me awake at night and run
into the walls
in my head that's lying still.
i toss my problems to the ground
and turn myself around because maybe,
maybe this time
I can forget they are still there.
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