The quicksand-filled buckets
that are hidden underneath my skull.
Was I born with them?
We're born as smaller wholes,
but I know something went missing.
I'm far too exhausted to find it
or fight it.
I don't know
Where the trains going
When the sea stopped bowing
Why it's still a point of focus
My neurons are splintered
The pieces shank the front lobes of
my brain.
My head hurts.
My head aches.
Nothing is ever going to be silent again,
Is it.
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