Why is it a pain to write when you are in a happy plain?
Irony has its way of inserting into your epidermis when you’re
more likely covered in armor.
Like the above thought. Happy but mute? Humbug.
Now I am writing because I have to unleash a paperweight
saddled on my chest.
To unmute.
But I have nothing to write about .
Maybe a few.
Gluttony is not an effective remedy for this hurt.
I wonder why girls indulge in such debauchery when they
simply know that it adds to the burden.
And weight.
Sublimation.
And I am being a girl right now.
My feminine side exudes confidence in unleashing this tirade
of emotional outbursts
just because they were cracked open beforehand.
Too much trust can cause that, you see.
Unmuting.
But settling for silence instead.
I need a drink.
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