madness, bleeding out of my tear ducts like the slime oozing from the innards of corpses, dripping dew condensing on the stones that comprise the walls of the water well, screaming at me, tearing my bones into splinters
. . .
my subconscious is dripping, dripping red onto the pages of a glowing window somewhere . . .
Thursday, July 26, 2018
You were always better at seeing than I was. My eyes could not see any colors, and I created a world of grey for you to live in.
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