The pain in my flank creeps like the tar of a melting California avenue. My mouth tastes of rotten entrails and milky gray clouds. My spine is wrapped in Styrofoam, at best. My future is carved from superglue and painkillers of increasing magnitude. The sun is a little less bright every day. Tiny changes are a welcome morphine drip of laziness, masquerading as a well-deserved reprieve. I write the word 'malaise' a thousand times in an old diary. It only helps a little, until the candlelight burns out.
12:26 p.m. - 2017-09-18
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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