Impure

I've been under for more than two days now. It was meant to be a desease but the heart isn't in it. All my actor are walking away, bouycoting my attempts at skiving legally, how long will eyes of my employers sit before they grow tired of the wool in their eyes?

I have a black eye that grows everyday and the music in my heart says that this isn't what it was meant to be or how it would turn out. I sniff bak lumps of hlegm and they ease my conscience, I am after all sick. Aren't I? Sick to the stomach and hardenend arteries, painful urges to hurt and run. Sweaty stinking body forcing the coma out, little heaving pushes that sadden me, all he wants is to be happy and there's just a grim intent bleeding slippery failure into everything he tries to do. I am all ouot of answers anda out of understanding. It can and won't work for me- a hair's breadth away from being you. A hair's breadth from being a breath, not just a cancer blackening.

I'm nothing. How can this shaking urine soaked sweating leach cause so much trouble?

I am nothing.

Let there be Nothing.

I am your dirty word.

I am your shame

spit on me spit on me spit on me,

and let me live.