My mind has been fixed frozen in this permanent state of permafrost.
The words don't hibernate, too busy being stressed they've been subdued.
A dew too cold to move me out of bed again.
Again and again this cycle of exhaustion maintains my mind awake.
A paradox or paradigm?
Imagination tortured by Siberian guards,
My thoughts are bare naked- exposed.
Like the shelves.
Void of essence to sustain me.
Why clink that coin if it doesn't rattle?
Why work to tire?
Oh how harsh is sleep's suspire.
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