(holed in degree)

My brain is a bucktooth mantra gnawing quietly at the back of my skull every time the night finds a corner to call a grave.

I think i may be feverish. in fact, i'm fairly sure. my shoulders are twitching and my neck is locked into the lowly shakes that come when the days are finally done catching up with me.

I can't make sense of anything. i'm half-naked and fucking filthy from an attempt to make something of the day.

I want to vomit. i want to sleep. i want to forget everything i've ever done and slip into tomorrow, blameless and clean.

I suppose i can satisfy at least one of those things but i'm afraid i lack the strenth.