There are no colors within me
but something blooms.
It has taken root in my gut
and matured in my chest.

Winding it’s way into my limbs,
wrapped around my muscles and
sowing fatigue into the cells.

Slowly -
Until my whole anatomy is heavy.

Crawling up my ribcage
despair sprouts in my lungs,
grows up my throat,
and chokes on the oxygen.

Loneliness has flourished.

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