Month Three

And everything fades and keeps fading and will keep fading and this never ends. It just sinks another level lower. Just another bruise I find in the morning that Heaven doesn’t know where it came from because there’s no light left. There’s an unending darkness confronting me at every sign of a return. This is only month three and it’s only getting worse and I have another stomach ache. The nausea stopped being existential about half an hour ago because now it’s just vomit. But after I purge it’ll all be better for a few minutes. I promise you in those few minutes we can start all over again. I’ll try again and we’ll see where things go. This time it’ll be better. This time, I promise, we’ll all be fine. And we’re not fine, no. And everything fades. It hasn’t faded yet. I can see the streams through the streams. Sweating and freezing and shaking and hiding and everyone’s out to catch me now. A pariah, I have stolen the robes of. I’ll tell you this isn’t me, and these aren’t my robes. You’ll tell me this is, and I guess you’ll be right. The room won’t stay still, and I guess neither will I as I cover the outside with the in.

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