the beauty in knowing that most everything that can go wrong actually has, well, it's wondrous. there aren't any jewels to wear that have that same shimmer or glow. there really isn't any glow. there are just orbiting rings of fog. discs of fog. wherever i walk, they're circling me vertically, circling my upper half, turning like wet cotton on a rubber belt. there really isn't any glow.
the uselessness in what i've become and who i am is incredibly overbearing. i didn't know that by being so quiet, i'd go deaf. i didn't know that by speaking, i'd lose my tongue to a piece of plush.
i'll wait for the Northern lights to come around; sometime when the sun sneezes or ejaculates so hard that our Planet's defenses get tickled and impregnated with glare. i'll wait for that to happen so i know i'll disappear into some green, purple, red or blue fog. i guess there is a little glow.
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