i face another october
the air is ripe with the stench of my rot
the tiredness staining my flesh sits like a shrine beneath the sockets of my eyes
i wonder briefly if i am real
as all of the tomorrows filter through my mind...
they will all feel like this too
i see a stranger & i smile cheerfully
as if my day was made
by the mere presence of them
but my pupils are still dead, my mind is unclear, & my soul shrinks a little more into this madness
will this longing ever end ?
or is this simply what it is to live
- october 3rd, 6:58am
