She crawls about the latticework inside my head. She has a cracked skeleton key that she uses for easy access. I don't remember giving it to her. Or maybe the locks on my mind are generic and easily defeated.
The rooting around sounds like sin. Transgressions most easily absolved with high-impact cranial collision against the walls of a broken home. But I can't shake loose a cancer.
10:43 p.m. - 2016-03-27
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