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Last night I had a dream;. I try to cry for help,. But my tears get stuck in my lacrimal,. My voice struggles with my larynx. I hear your voice calling to me,.
Stories, events, people and every random thing you can think of. The Death of Johnny Twenty Naira. Butt Imprints on Black Leather Seats. Create a free website or blog at WordPress.
Originally posted on LIFE OF SHOVEL. Not Ajalu, or his mother, or the members of the Pakurumo community. This is so relatable and I cried, a bit.
And a warm half heart. THE WATER OF YOUR WORDS. THE WATER OF YOUR WORDS. Words pushing against your mouth,. Like pus trying to find its way out a furuncle. Putrid, dank, heavy with unpleasantness. Like strokes of a horsewhip,. They fall upon back in whooshes,. Leaving welts, thick as summer slugs and blood worms. Heavy as an anvil, they strike,.