I don't know why I always find myself blogging after going to Clarke Quey.
I think it must be the lamp posts.
The light is warm.
There's something in my head and heart that keeps swimming 'round in circles. It's there for nobody to see. It makes me hot below. It sickens me to hang on to it. Kill the fishes that reign these murky waters. The fishes that purge and then flee to escape. Text message. He texts me. A fish. A fish texts me. His friend's a douche that holds him back. He is selfish and meek and reeks of fish.
Drown in the sea water with me.
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