The Insomniac Owls

It clutches my very chest.

It is the same feeling you get when something is not funny anymore.

It is inexplicably unsettling.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m alone in this.

When in reality I’m not.

You see all of us like to think that we are one of a kind that, there is this uniqueness about ourselves.

Your misery is not special ,On the scale of things it is unimportant. It is not even superior among its peers

Cold apathy -if there was any grips me, mocks me , tells me that there are far worse realities, and harsher circumstances.

For the life of me I do not know if that should comfort me or make me despair .

For now I’m left unsettled hoping it will pass.

I will myself not to think of the alternative

My knuckles are white from grasping that straw

it is all i have…

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