29 October 2010

Cottoning On

My mind communicates to me through a thick layer of cotton. I ask it questions but cotton balls are stuffed in its ears; it tells me answers but cotton balls are stuffed in its cheeks. I strain my ears to no avail: I cannot make out what it is saying.

I need it to lead me places but it cannot. Its movements are hampered, for it is fighting through a world packed tight with cotton.

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