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Denatured

I am taking it as a good sign, not a troubling one, that I cannot seem to keep anything in my mind these days.

Words escape me.

My thought processes have slowed to a trickle like a drought addled brook.

Things I normally am juggling or pitching about or manoeuvring are sliding right off my plate.

I am denaturing. Maybe its not words and arguments and trains of thought that make me who I am. Maybe its something else.

Maybe, but right now, I don't have the words for what that might be. 
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