xxxxx

i remember asking for art. and so, pain, little blossoming acid ticks, ants. and it's a fault in my wiring, fault of mine. i'm sucking on a muesli bar, biting skin off my lips, and the worst pain that doesn't translate, isolates.

like a cold sweat from a steaming kettle, feet too warm, painful teeth, sunlight on an empty stomach.

and none of it matters. none of it is seen. i asked for art and my guts are risen. i can't even crawl out of this playlist.

and all the bizarre fucking truth of, in a few hours, i am not even alone. i am in love with my soul mate, in my charming house, with a new job role, and i have an axe wound in my very centre. you don't get to be sad when you're happy.

there's too many ways in.