Grief - Emma Joy Richards

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The days slip through my fingers, no thought ever seems to linger. I drink water and yet it spills through me. I feel parched and that no food can ever nourish me. My sleep is thick and long, and yet I wake up tired. It's all wrong. The taste of the days, the texture of the feelings, the sound of the silence, is deafening, slippery and disgusting.

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