Sunday, 26 October 2014

Some days (or weeks, nobody is keeping track)

I feel like an underwater creature that somebody has dragged from the deep sea and left lying on the pier for dead. On days like that I stare at the ceiling motionlessly, a little Help voice resounding throughout my body. Of course, on the surface nobody can read my mind, and even if they could, they do not speak my language. I am just an alien in a hostile man shoot man man over a dog biscuit world.

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