this weight
held by one
unbreakable
strand
pulls me down
further
inside myself.
If i do not
move
it does not
sway,
a pendulum
of heartache.
Back and forth
between melancholy
and hysteria.
my tightening fist
to counteract,
to gain balance
In my fist
lies the remains
of a broken pen,
ink black thoughts
from open wound
run on thick.
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