Staring at a blank page, trying to find the words in jungle of the mind, for cohesion, unity and some sort of conformity could flow, the fleeting thought that had to be laid out, to dissipate into the ether as time moved forward by my mind stood still, sometimes my hands connect to my brain and like a speeding train they layout the words ahead as tracks to keep flowing, other times my head it screams, but my hands can not see, for communication from my brain becomes a troubling theme, when I was younger I could see great images within my imagination, but my hands could never translate what my mind could see, I have always had a story locked away inside of me, but my hand and lips could not find the way to communicate, I should have know when I was young, my brain was troubled, that the rot would only grow, my vision dims on a single whim, I trip and fall for no reason at all, my hands once had the strength of 10, now I cant even hold on to a pen, legs of steel that carried me across the world, find 3 steps and they need rest, one who never had much breath, finds shallow and labored moments to barely be enough, a heart that has hurt from the very start, thumps with the beat of a really weird drum, if ones beats are numbered mine have become barrowed, for every hour this life becomes darker, weaker, lonelier, harder, for if I scream what will it mean, the pain is simply greater than me, the courage to go is weaker than the desire to stay, day by day I continue to wither away, upon your eyes my gaze may deceive, but what's inside has already died;
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