Sunday, 27 November 2016

Reverse Osmosis

I lay on my bedroom floor soaking up the shit - all the miserable uselessness that pools around my bits. I wallow in the melancholy and find a home in it, I loll my tongue and shake my head and squint my eyes to slits.

If I wasn't attuned to all this terrible static noise of misery and decay, perhaps I'd drag myself off the floor and perhaps I'd feel OK. Perhaps if I wasn't broken I'd find a way to be alive, functional, punctual, one of those people that actually tries. If I was proper broken then perhaps I'd actually mend, instead of laying here all day thinking of the end.

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