It’s not supposed to be Thursday

I shed my shadow
And peel the layers
That trap me in the chamber
Cultivating ego
It is deafening
To real voices
To find answers
I have to grapple myself
It's twitching under skin
Stretching it, protruding
I've been sensing it
I've heard it coming
Veins like ropes
That hang me
Bones like bars
Imprisoning
I grow out of it
High above me.

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