Pickled grey matter

The tears I don’t cry

get backed up into my brain

and come out as words instead.

Around and around they roll,

taking their toll.

Till I pour them out onto paper,

I can’t tell what I really think.

Too much chaos occurring

For me to connect the links.

I don’t know how to feel

and it messes me up

and my stomach aches

and I don’t eat

and the only thing I want is sleep.

All because of words that float in my

brain and tears that refuse

to fall, instead becoming

stagnant fluid, preserving

a hysterical mind forever.

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