The Feeling

a brain that needs to be scrubbed
clean. burdens- they stand, idly,
on my shoulders. now we’re all
waiting for relief. an ache,
3mm above my heart but
nowhere close enough to even matter.
something hangs on the tongue. the
taste of rust spreads throughout
and the air: it is heavy. silence
raps my eardrums with its knuckles.
a breath, gasping. yet, still, none
of these could ever match what
was, perhaps, the most excruciating:
the pain of patiently waiting.

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