again it is taxed by the latest deluge. this whirlpool of muck and debris and oppression has spun downhill for years. my throat iron oxide like the grill created to hold it back. hold it back, hold it back (please hold it back). it’s those sliver words and dismissive exasperations that find their way through the rungs. surely it will pass. the storm always does. still the oily residue of expiratory pledges grows fiercer to scrub from the nubs. full of flippancy you let fall from your fingertips, there comes an awful gurgle from the center of my core. choked of all you no longer find useful, my limitations rise against myself and once more i am full up in your shit. your laughter like a skipping sun from behind clouds. the leaves a lazy drip atop street. it’s all over now but no matter how you distance yourself, your stench is always one with my skin.
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