Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Viva Nicotina


Heavy and overstuffed from food I haven't eaten, have seen; gnawed to the bone by all the stormborne silence, blackness. I lay dissolved in this womb-like fluff of a blanket which my mother gave me.

Here, I am still - everything is perpetually moving.

It's another year, another year to burn. Burn, burn, burn to ashes. Burn to ashes.


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