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the clock ticks on has it beat sixty times yet? like a bass line to my anxious melody, a rhythm for my thoughts to keep in time with

slouched with something half-finished in my hand, i do without comprehending, worries crowning as i smile and wave at someone walking past– it’s nice out today, isn’t it? –all the meanwhile dreaming up nightmares where people see me and turn the other way, where they block my number and ignore my texts my pleads for help embedded in the you’re not mad, right? in the sorry for bothering you in the lol, yeah, i’m fine

tick, tock how many more hours until you want to leave me?

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