Pay the toll or never cross the moat

Some people battle a whirlwind of crippling self-doubt. They awaken each day that it could not be today that I figure what I am and what I accept. Each night I retrace the memories regurgitating the past, living a gooey like substance oozing through the walls. Some people learn to be merry stating it is not I who dwells on things that make me unhappy but I do. I come sit at the doorsteps of those who are weeping and have forgotten why because suppression is a temporary strength. I sit under the table hoping that by daybreak, I’ll be brave enough to get up from the floor and whisper a prayer.
What is this omnipresent jurisdiction looming o’er? Why must it come at a time like this, when only words come together when one’s alone. Some people learn to do things quickly having no time for second guesses and shortness of breath. I’d like to think that some people are as I or not at all.


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