Running away from myself, hating my words, I think better than I talk, or write.
I don't translate well for most, I write in riddles, simple and yet complex.
I feel bad for even trying. I'm a slave to my thoughts, and sometimes I like it.
Keep guessing, I'm going too.
Maybe, I'm a contradiction, it's not my place to say.
Maybe, just maybe....
It's time to walk away, yet with humble hesitation, I disagree.
Words, upon words, upon memories, upon thoughts, upon actions, and still, here I am.
Thinking and writing.
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