Illness can only make work seem worse. I am nauseous, weak and giddy. Sitting in office and barely functioning as an office chair, much less as an experience designer. Bah humbug indeed. Sudden craving for garlic bread and a ticket back home. I never get home sick, but when i am sick, I miss being home the most. Its a cruel cycle that keeps me away from home. That cycle sure is cruel.
ink
Ink upon the darkness makes no marks at all. Scrabbling about in the shadows nails, bleeding, fall. Scratching at the doors to my own damnation, I call. Names of old, names forgotten, slithering, from my tongue, they fall. Fat, obese, they move upon the trails I've left behind. I beg them to stop, do not witness my thoughts, my crimes. But they continue, no heed paid at all. Those that came from the shadows eat me, my past. They eat it all. Slick with anxiety, I continue, appalled. Eaten, my fingers to the bone, I watch, enraptured, enthralled. This blood that erupts from my throat, leaves no marks, not even silence, upon these walls.
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