Sunday, October 2, 2016

Grip

Date of publication not known.

I have nowhere to go hide from myself. I don't even have a self Anymore. I've thrown it all away and sometimes I'm just a shell. A mad shell. A mad shell  that likes to lie near the sea and drown in the crazy sounds that emanate from the shallow waves and echo through its being. A parasite, that clings endlessly. A tendril that chokes. A closed dead fist. 

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