Feet tapping with the tick of the hand, counting so slowly
Fingers leaking with the ink of work, slippery
Breath roaring with echoes of shells, ringing like a headache
Throat evaporating into paper, cutting and coarse
The silence is bent with all the empty sounds
as the heart spasms
thrashing about like the thoughts looming overhead
raining
with the hypothetical, the probable,
the illusions, the simulations, the dreams, the
nightmares
until finally
the air is stolen and replaced
by your name
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