Slow bleed



I never thought that it was possible to break into as many pieces as this. Death is a slow bleed into eternity- an endless night of salty tears that fail to wash away the choking and relentless accuser. Kindness does not watch for me this side the ground. All is as cold as the sheeting rain, running rivulets over eyes and keyboard, spilling into boxes upon boxes of generic paper product. I am without limbs- life rushing down the bathtub drain, as I scrabble to recreate happiness with old photographs and memory. Alas- the pictures are gone…

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