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Fear.
My vision has diminished and grown faint.
A dim, melancholy haze is all that remains.
I suppose this is measly my altering surroundings.
I lay still; paralyzed, yet the clock’s ruthless ticking resumes while goosebumps emerge on my insipid skin.
The striking coldness lurking inside must have triggered their appearance.
Any subtle residue of vibrancy has been swallowed, hidden among the unknown.
All that flourishes is disconnection.
My purpose is vacant.
I have come to be a mere puppet of fear.

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