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WHEN THE INK RUNS DRY
Brain, dead, drained out fluids and discharges. Who has been there since the very beginning? Before the ink was drying. What were you thinking? Maybe you were drinking and driving, while I was alone, crying, wondering, dying, sat by the window watching the thunder and lightning, existing, surviving. The lonesome resident, Hermit the Frog, pigeon cooped in this dark bitter coldness.
NovHELLber 2007. No respite, Dizzy, cannot focus, the problem started in August, 2007, waking up, working, tired, sleeping, waking up, working, exhausted, sleeping, waking up, working, burnt out. Illness. Switched off, brain cell shutdown. Thoughts in overdrive. Dizzy, nauseous, unbearable, oh Dog, Illuminati Formula Used to Create an Undetectable Total Mind Controlled Slave. oh Dog. Illness, the real world, oh Dog, what's really going on? Dizzy. Must keep busy, something, to hold on to, being sucked, oh Dog, lee waves. Need some leeway, please.
Switching off, numb, subconscious, relaxed, better thoughts, more conductive, these words productive. No worse off for trying. New outlet, me liking, exercising my right to bear writing. Excising demons, to disperse this hurt, this purge must occur. Time to run riot, run amok, rock the boat a little, oh well, a whole bunch of naval artillery, this uncanny ability to maximise my capabilities. The line only stops when you place the dots, take your finger off the trigger and the handgun stops. The head is leaking also, I must have had some clots. The process of lovemaking, he loves making words dance and double meanings you might not understand at first glance. But if you give them a chance, they might just make the difference, they were the answer to my prayers, the worst nightmares, comfort in the doldrums.
But rest assured, the quill has barely even dipped in the well yet.