"it's...just...laying me to waste"
And now 30.
And only a slightly more melancholic version of the decade-junior.
Face unshaven, hair caked with filth, brain knotted and immobile and heavy, sad eyes and hands tucked into armpits, a slight rocking motion for comfort, and sentences amiss. Insufficient vocabulary to explain - noone to understand, anyway. Social skills long extinct, barked at an adolescent today. A litter of thoughts fighting for a spot...
...our proud jesus, disengaged and walking across the desert, sun sapping the fucking life out of him.
And now slowly lifting leg into casket - just to try, just to lay down for a moment, just one minute I swear. Final thin pages of an average and unexciting book turning mindlessly in the draft, dust-wooden, empty room...blue-gray...
"Let me see your tongue, son"
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