Aching limbs galore. Mind and body half asleep. Unwashed and unshaven, a month old beard hanging from a face that doesn’t care. When the sun comes out, I sit in the garden. When it rains, I go indoors and make myself a cup of tea before falling asleep. Several hours later, and the words come and go like the seasons. Like faces they blur together from one day to the next. Not souls, just insects. Not a product of love, but one of convenience. Sexual appetite a bore. The need for constant communication leaving a bitter taste in an already sour mouth. There’s a place for me that’s just right, yet I have to wait my turn. Head down and busy and prolific. Eyes closed and mad and bad. Overweight yet not quite expired. Biding time with patience, so virtuous is he who can see beyond his own nose. A victim like everyone else, but a smart one at least. The hours tick away and my body doesn’t move. It rests whilst my imagination takes me some place where they can’t interfere. All those people, always getting in the way. Sticking their beaks in because their own lives are just so numbing. As pitiful as a crushed skull. As lonely as a lover sat on a bench looking up at the full moon. Wrapped in love and sweet melancholy, she counts the stars and wishes that his love was as pure as hers. The roads are empty, and nature makes no sound. Lungs on fire with secrets to tell, she closes her eyes and begs to be saved before it becomes all to much for her breaking heart to take.

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