witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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Iím tired of being tired and sad, yet Iím too listless to attempt a change. Every day I wake up, I force myself back to sleep again. Iím tired of the hospital visits. Iím tired of talking. I want to collect every word; sweep every one under a rug. Walk over them like a thin sheet of ice that cracks beneath my feet. Snap them like twigs. Pluck them from your tongue and mine. No more words; I donít want to listen. My ears are aching for silence.

1:19 a.m. - Monday, Aug. 22, 2011

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