I miss you, it's 22:43 and I miss you. I hold the pillow you gave me. It's as if I am holding on to a half rotten piece of flotsam as I drown into a sea of periodic depression. More like a lake or a pond, a pond that's too shallow to drown my thoughts in. If only I hadn't met you, I could have just gone back to focussing on anger, hate, regret towards everyone and anyone. Now I'm wasting time on writing pseudo-poetic horse-dung about love and its accompanying afflictions. Hell I'm even starting to write like a doctor now. That would be the day, I could prescribe myself some Valium or sleeping pills to keep from having the insomnia to burden my brain with emotional conundrums.


Now it's 22:54, my eyelids grow heavy and I bitched myself to sleep. I´m sure as hell happy you're never gonna be reading any of this.


-Bain N.

The End

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