My body was trying to tell me something. Deep down a whimper of "enough is enough," escapes, but I swallow it down again. I am the fluke inside that holds this weak frame together. I am the urge you fight but can't quell forever. Died wild eyed beneath a misty gray sky. Visited only by a single lonesome fly. A death as poetic as a drunken stupor that led to a cracked skull in an empty hole. One last shower to cleanse a life of sin that clings close hidden, just beneath the skin- parasites we can feel crawling and wriggling. Try scratching, rubbing, and picking them with a shout. I used to think I was clever but now I know better.
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