Argument

A nothing grazing my head. The sound of silence absorbing into my ears. Like buckets full of water, I feel frail and heavy.
The trance of black taking over and feeding over my emotions, digesting my ability think or even feel.
I feel like I am letting go. Running off, everything. The fear of loosing set far, not a shadow to be seen. Just emptiness and the nostalgia of the want of feeling nothing is taking over. Engulfing me as a whole, mouthful.
Thoughts getting paralysed and affection getting choked. Body getting numb and eyelids bearishly heavy.
Words draining off my core, leaving the surface and letting go. Like they never grew on the barren platform.
Don’t know if it’s the same, or the ability to deceive my own self. Not about me, not about nothing but the argument.
The argument between the want of being stranded and the feel of being wanted.
Choice being material, or being eternal. The argument now making my numbness go, unwontedly.
Harder I try, farther I loose,
To the material than eternal. The argument never ending about absolutely nothing I can do.

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