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Metaphorically speaking.

I’m not literally sitting in the middle of a low-lying geographical depression, rethinking my life choices while surrounded by alligators and the foul stench of stagnant water and industrial waste.

Neither am I a boat punctured, taking on water and sinking slowly while attempting desperately to prevent my meager existence from being wiped from the planet after having served no apparent significant purpose.

It just feels that way.

I’m also apparently very into run-on sentences as a result.

3 Responses to “swamped”

  1. # Anonymous Bekah

    One might say you're having a Faulkner moment.  

  2. # Anonymous r.fuel

    I'll imagine that means that my writing is on par with one of America's greatest novelists and not that it's confusing in its similarity to his "stream of consciousness" narratives.

    Thank you.  

  3. # Anonymous s.wells

    i'm very into not making sense as a result of life in general.
    someone has to do it!  

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