I’m sure the story this was supposed to be is fine.
There is a nagging sensation that more is required.
Soft exhale. Little much vapor. Does that mean the lungs aren’t absorbing? How long did we hold it?
Too much effort has been spent on such things.
One moment.
Just one moment on a stair to try to make this reality cohesive enough to try to believe in.
trytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytrytry to believe in.
It is quiet. Enough. Sometimes the silence is disturbing. It isn’t really silent (tee hee). shards of ‘was’ processing, so slow.
The body’s mother recited a joke. (Had better not start rapping again, I will edit that shit right out. “Cut off some of the ‘pp’ and then you can be ‘raping’.” IT IS ON BRAND)
