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Too Much

I hate my head
as I hate chaos.

My thoughts are never obedient,
but an unintelligible cacophony

that is a chorus of contemplative voices.
I lost my own to the crowd long ago.

I cannot even stop thinking, without
thinking about the nature of mental

silence. I want to crush my skull.
I imagine placing one palm

on each temple, and slowly
beginning to press. Will I hear

the crack of bones, or feel
the warmth between my fingers?

Or will I stop
soon enough to sense only silence

and sweet

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