-_-

Twenty minutes past the witching hour, and i'm still awake.
feeling like i'm going to implode. but still.
plodding on, plodding on.
been through worse before.
kicking in the door, seven months pregnant,
finding a den full of porn.
plans to clean out a bank.

i should've sank.

but no.

plodded on, plodded on.

like i do now.

'love's got nothing to do with it,'
he said.
'this is self-preservation.'
and so i read.

how many witching hours to go
how many implosions to endure.

sure.

manure.

3.32
july 1