Ac

there is too much and so little whirling away in my brain I feel as if I might implode. So much and too little. My heart aches with overwhelming desire to learn to grow to be to do, but that I am here now, stops me dead. How can I fly with shoes made of lead? Plodding away day by day whithering away little by little to nothing. I need an ocean to wash away my troubles and clear my thick head. So much beauty and so much hate and so much jealousy I can’t stay in my skin. If only I were a butterfly and I could flutter away in the wind. Or a big fish to dive deep in the darkest waters of the sea. My worke my soul my love fruitless in its ambition.  It’s too hott and the day won’t quit.

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   

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