Crying at work is unacceptable.
Having nothing to cry about is not much better.
Wanting to cry anyway is a damn waste of tears.

It crept in, an odorless funk, and remains in the borders of my life.
I feel it weighing back my ribcage, making my intake of air sad and slow.
My healthy lungs and tick-tick-heart are lower than somber.
They have moved to the periphery to be enveloped in viscous grey nothing.
I want my vitals back.

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