scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


18.3.10
the ground, there, underneath, an illusion, an allusion. I fell, I fall. Two roads in a yellow. It stops. I want to chuck it into the sea and let some lucky diver.

A thousand things, a hundred thousand, tiny things, big things. I should sleep, i should sleep, what an idea. If i paint my fingernails black, red, purple, still too near. I notice.

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scrawled @ 22:51






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