It always takes some event, some shift in my daily routine to put me back to this spot.
It’s not depression. But rather a state of confusion. I get this inability to think. Instead my thoughts are everywhere, lost and tangled in a web of intricacy. I am not in a daze, but part of it, existing solely in the fatuous dreams of my mind.
All the while the external me is caught in a state of comatose. I read the pages and comprehend nothing. I sleep, yet forget to eat. I realize. But I can’t seem to wake up.
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