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NOVEMBER
It's weird to think. Who knows what will happen from now and November. Not much can happen. And I still will ache, I still will sink, I still will melt as I'm walking through the hallways and observing. But who knows what could happen. Maybe It'll be worse. Maybe It won't. But how much can change. There will always be the mild feeling. As long as I'm here nothing can change. Everything is always the same dull twinge here. Everyone has something ,someone, groups they stick to. But mine come and go. I'm only left with a few someones but I want more don't I because everyone else does so why don't I? I feel like somebody how taken a dull bitter knife and somehow managed to wedge it into me. Pulling out my throat, my heart, my stomach my soul. Or maybe that they cut me open and are clenching onto them, prodding and poking them like a scientist does in an experiment. I feel dumb. I feel dumb being sad. Because I have more than a lot of people have. It's my brain that is damaging me the most. Not what I don't have. Because my brain wants what everyone else has. My anxiety wants what everyone else has. My entire body churns and boils when I see that everyone has something. Something that defines them. And I don't. But I suppose that's my fault isn't it. And that's what hurts the most. I could've done something, could've joined something. But something held me back and now it's too late and now here I am with my organs on the floor and who's fault is it. The someone with the dull knife is me and the more I dwell the more my dull hand takes the dull knife and sticks it down my throat, silencing me and keeping me back and breaking my heart. And no matter what I do nothing will change. I'll always be a grey girl who fears the world. So November won't be different. Because I won't be different.
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