there are times when she suspects she is a glutton for punishment, some natural home for unfounded and often unjustified laments. like she seeks out her own unhappiness and tries to multiply it past anything it should ever really be.
there are times when she sees this possibility with a bullethole clarity, but then she finds herself there, again. deep in a handcrafted den of discontent.
once upon a time, she would cure this with motion – running through dark streets and rowing like the machine was crossing oceans. once upon a time, not far after, she would cure this with another sort – raging bodies and purple rings of tiny bruises. but tonight she is without either, so treads water and tries to look like she meant to be there.
~
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