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| He Was Withered And
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The clouds here go on forever. They roll on, and on, and on, and on and I'm losing myself in the sky again. That awful feeling in my stomach, a cocktail of anxiety and a hangover.
Between Cincinnati and Columbus there's a billboard that reads: "HELL IS REAL" If it is, it's definitely the space between Cincinnati and Columbus.
Field after field after field. The sky is limitless and I'm finding too much open space, it's unnerving.
I'm sleeping in the sun. Well, as best I can at least. The nightmares begin to weave themselves into reality. I can't decipher whether or not the memories I have are from dreams or drunken blurs. Or if I said the words aloud or if I said them as I walked the line of consciousness. Under the clouds I'm beginning to wonder if it even matters.
When I was a kid, I used to stare at the sky and wish I could fall into the clouds. I hoped gravity would reverse itself and it would be a calming fall through the wide open.
Whenever I get to feeling like this I still wish the same. | |
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