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After delicately finishing the cup of coffee, (for fear of scalded tongue,) it’s time to do the errands for today: washing the ***** dishes from last night; cleaning the mound of laundry: the bloodstained shirts, ripped jeans, and ***** strewn hoodie. It was all from last night. I had these things to do. Instead of the usual staring outside, having my soul one with the wind. It was white. I had forgotten about that shirt. The one with the bloodstained. Like ketchup, poured clumsily over at family dinner. Family? Doesn’t even know that. After mixing the bleach with the water. I wrote each of their names on that languid surface, having it rippled a thousand times. I smiled as I break reflections. There are ghosts now surrounding the house. Why should I play with things here? I am alone. I do not have to worry about the kitchen knives flying like jets, or the plates, breaking into incoherent pieces like stained glass fragments. Today is a clear sky. Not a thunderstorm. Not a cloud. Nothing but clear sky. And today, I learned how to silence each dead voice trapped in my cranium. Break them one by one like Fragments.
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
After Coffee. What to Do Next?
After delicately finishing the cup of coffee, (for fear of scalded tongue,) it’s time to do the errands for today: washing the ***** dishes from last night; cleaning the mound of laundry: the bloodstained shirts, ripped jeans, and ***** strewn hoodie. It was all from last night. I had these things to do. Instead of the usual staring outside, having my soul one with the wind. It was white. I had forgotten about that shirt. The one with the bloodstained. Like ketchup, poured clumsily over at family dinner. Family? Doesn’t even know that. After mixing the bleach with the water. I wrote each of their names on that languid surface, having it rippled a thousand times. I smiled as I break reflections. There are ghosts now surrounding the house. Why should I play with things here? I am alone. I do not have to worry about the kitchen knives flying like jets, or the plates, breaking into incoherent pieces like stained glass fragments. Today is a clear sky. Not a thunderstorm. Not a cloud. Nothing but clear sky. And today, I learned how to silence each dead voice trapped in my cranium. Break them one by one like Fragments.
jefferson-lexus-jonson
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
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