I cannot write today. Exhausted by anger, I wallow like a sad dishcloth, depressed that an eruption of rage can obliterate all promise for the day. Weary of misunderstanding and provocation, my evacuated brain flits restlessly. My soul is empty after a flood of hot tears and I am unable replenish the joy, for that would mean swallowing my pride and revisiting the same tortured words.
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