Could you call it an anti-massage? my back bunching up
of its own accord.
Stress sinking to the lines of a body. Going over a hill but there is no hill.
*** is...is supposed to be
about a kind of abandon
ive never felt.
An act of letting go.
Hold on so tight
my mental hands hurt.
Mental hands, i bite my nails.
The me inside my head does too. Both of me's need to get laid.
Ridden into the sunset.
Exhausting me.
No energy left
for the parasite pf anxeiety
to latch onto.
Let go.
Let go.
Lets go
Late night. Stomach hurts. Stupid musing nostalgic sick brain
