There isn't much I know seeping out right now. NO grains working in fields of words that I can harvest and put forth for you. No desperate grasp and drive but there is worry. Worry that's got under my skin and doesn't know where to go. but not in my words, it falters there. Hiding behind the emotions it's dragging up, silent. I want to shake it out, give in a be done with it. Nothings letting go its sitting inside like a wasp nest. swarming out angry. Change and fear crawling on top of all. In the folds of the fabric the bugs make their homes. slowly devouring the scarecrow silent though he speaks.
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