April 2012
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Final Monologue (A confession of sorts...)
I don’t want to open my eyes. I hate that fucking light shade. It’s the starter-pistol of regret. If I turn to my left I’ll see the needy eyes of a woman I learned to hate a long time ago but have never quite escaped. I need to drag my feet over former lustful steps. I said goodbye and this time it’s the end, almost certainly. My hands are dry and cracked with cold nights and mornings at bus stops...
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March 2012
46 posts
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