I really want to continue this poem, I just don't know how yet, so here is something.
There is always something to worry about.
No matter how small the problem,
It still exists.
It still breathes in my sentences and contorts them into meaningless
rages.
There is always a due date written in invisible ink,
A distant time where we need to solve the equation,
Finish the project,
Practice the music,
Read the book,
Say that your fine,
Why do you need me to be fine?
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