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What Are We Writing For?

Creativity is at an all time low. I can't explain why or where to go. Decisions are not being made Even inside my own brain. I lost it all in one fell swoop. It's gone like a flash

But it feels more like an endless loop

That keeps whooping my own ass With my guts churning at every turn

Nowhere else to hide

Nothing left to burn I question my life

My decisions

And if I'm even on the right side

Or if I even made the correct turn Maybe that's the issue

It's in my veins

Like heroine

Eating at my brain

One person says a sly comment

That puts me off

Now I'm toppling over

Straight into a piss and shit filled trough

When I finally look down at where i am

I realize i am making the decisions


i am at it again.



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The Last Refuge of Sound

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The Last Refuge of Sound is turning around

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