Drowning Good

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Seated. Head swaying back and forth to Swim Good. Like a medium waveband, I listen to the dust filtering music through ether, vibrating my core. A mood-less, mood.

Lost in thoughts of scarification, bloodletting and my own demons. The flash photography display in my head pauses, reawakening the deadened feeling in my right leg where it was kicked.

Where am I? What is this land that keeps me on the outside, knocking aimlessly at a door which grants no entry. No one to let me in. Books piled on my bedside table. Escaping into tomes. Tonight, I’ll seek comfort between the words. Refuge. The paragraphs will be my bedding. I’ll lay. Draped in sentences for warmth.

Drowning good.

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