The nausea passes quickly, leaving a malaise of indifference etched into my ribs.
Sheer discipline carries me on it's broad shoulders. My sweat mingles with concrete, and my muscles ache with fatigue. The jury of results is still months adjourned. I could decline the summons, but I know I shouldn't.
I can't focus on anything long enough to coalesce my Muse. Hearing the same tinkling, ethereal warble of card castles in the sky ripple through my head doesn't serve to align my crooked cortex to the polarization of an artist. Though it does bring the blessed mercilessness of a meditative zero.
Eyes closed, I squint against the flush of clouds crowding my mind. I'm more tired than I expected. Less awake than I'd hoped.
What an insidious, fickle tart. You teasing, alluring strumpet.
Don't forget; you are my concubine. Your sirensong is only on loan.
11:09 p.m. - 2014-05-08
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