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Muddy
I feel muddy, but I am completely clean.
It’s inside and it’s bothersome.
I am alone with just my thoughts,
but they are nonsensical and garbage;
protection I suppose.
For if I allow my thoughts to fall into place.
If I reach out my hand and ask for help….
I’m left muddy still.

The truth is only I can answer these questions,
only I can silence these voices…
if I leave it alone, if I leave them alone…
will it all just be muddy forever?
I think I will just be muddy forever.

Tears lay just on the tip of my lids, and I feel them.
They sear a pain that’s gnawing and simply want to break free.
They think the mud is on the outside.
But these tears they don’t know a thing.
It’s pressure, it’s fear, it’s heartache, it’s loss, it’s….
muddy.
I’m muddy.

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