A Thought.

Anxiety.

It is a bag trying to suffocate, snuff out and imprison docile individuals and miserable gets. Docile, in denial and frail individuals, people who want to breathe but insist on blocking their noses. Desperately trying to respire but for some reason, keeps on retiring to a throttling state.

Strange why such is the case, hopelessly trying omit but instead, reinforces. Brutally dying of wavering thoughts and yet, aversely lost in a forest of trivialities and boring matters.

Ideas of pessimism, get out.

Hemingway, you are to be blamed.

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One thought on “A Thought.

  1. czanguine says:

    I know just what you mean.

    By the way, Yana, I didn’t know you wrote/blogged. 😉 You’ll pardon me for being a huge creep, won’t you?

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