Walking With Demons
And attempting to stay dry.
Words.
Are there no ends to the tricks you can make words perform?
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A bit about the author.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Your breath tastes like gasoline.
I don't like it.
Reminds me of being laid out on the driveway, trying to claw through the pavement to escape.
Get away from me.
I don't like remembering.
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