.

Death is me and death I am. The flow is fantastic and I am wiped out. I quell and wish befondle was a word. What do they call that space before your brain wears out and your thoughts are higher than kites? Two days of blood. Two days of sick. Two days of worry and wasting and bitch. And now more things I cannot handle. The scale goes tither and whither and wastes away, disused and forgotten on a sunny day. Perhaps I feel that until I work it out I will be okay but that is not to be. Not made for here, not made for there, in the endless gorge (and gorge I did). What grief is this that brings us down so much? It is the one thing we never asked for, the chance event in an 8 hour gap with only a few million to choose from. It's not been my request so give me the one thing I do ask. Give me normal.
No longer the shining light, no longer floating above.
It is hard to watch everything crumble when you try it.