Whatever is occupying my mind
is scratching it's way out from inside of my head and I can feel it between my folds and hurling itself against my frontal lobe and the cold isn't helping but the time is, because I can feel the gaps in my thoughts now and the spaces, perhaps, are greater somehow. And I can't turn-off the run-on, but I can summon the courage to suppress the urges to binge and purge; I'll just indulge childish temptations and resist the satisfying sensations of release until the sheets of snow blanket the hills and all I can see, for miles, is white.
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November 2019
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