I'm drunk on weariness and giddy from asphyxiation. I'm being suffocated by inevitability and fruitlessness. I lean too heavily on sheer, undiluted discipline, and years and rigorous routine.
The many names of the gaping maw that's recently taken shape in my stomach is Shame. Realization. Self-awareness. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Humility.
All these illnesses try to void themselves from my body. I resist, swallow hard, and grimace; I don't want to inconvenience anyone with a public sickness.
10:43 p.m. - 2015-06-01
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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