In the brain: no vacancy.

I’ve got nothing.

Nothing to say,

Nothing to express,

I’m a sponge over-saturated.

A cup that’s filled too high.

There’s a tension in my arms I don’t know how to dispense,

A pressure in my head exasperated by thinking — thinking about thinking.

Then thinking about trying not to think so much.

Then over-thinking about how much I’m failing at not thinking.