Monday, January 12, 2009

Waiting for the relief that comes in a handful of small circular pink pills. New year. New deductibles. Scrips ate more than half my last paycheck. Dreams like labyrinths. Pain like my shadow, always by my side, most faithful of companions; a stalker, relentless. Controls my every move, mood, action, desire. O, puppeteer, your strings coil noose-like and drag me uselessly behind you. But you're all I have left. Where, what would I be without you?

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