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I'm drowning in the words I've thought to myself, drowning in guilt, I hate this brain, free will. Not to think is what I wish, not to dream, not to wander, I want to be perfect. Not a stitch in sight, I want to be whole, I meddle with what's not to be touched, and swim on solid ground. Why do I choose to swim when I can clearly walk, the perfect path, so paved and near, yet far from me.

Still I choose to flip and flop on this shallow street, sights set on you and me and everyone we've ever heard of.

I hate me, for having the legs I've wished for, yet aiming towards the sea.

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