Random Writings #1 Pain

The tip of the tongue presses against the wall, it begins to weep.  The colour is neutral, a dense sensation, blood like.  The spit is clear.  Sensitivity strikes at anytime, no organisation, no warning, just bang; lighting strikes down to the core.  The opposite side becomes jealous – I don’t know why, it weeps.

There is a solution, but time seems to slip away un-clocked and “I’ll do it tomorrow’ becomes the chosen cliché – it needs to be buried 12ft under.

I watch time, it goes slow and then some.  Is it time yet, please say it is; my mind is rested.  But then the knees begin to knock, see if I’m available to play – no I’m not, leave me alone – my world becomes opaque.

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