Monday, December 06, 2004

If The Devil Doesn't Like It, He Can Sit On A Tack

The air feels wrong today. Thick.
Like I can't breath or move.
Christ, it feels like the depths of the ocean.
I feel like I could reach out in front of me and push at the air,
like it would feel like a trampoline.
My head and my chest feel heavy.
I'm not suppose to be here.
This is all wrong. Discordia.

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