aSpiraling

Resigned. The common room drained of all but the hum of distant machinery. And your intestines burble. You hope, in feigned disinterest, that their little nauseating gurgles and off-color emissions are related to... your cold. Wasting time pondering the subtle variations that pass through your body like a breeze in your life's ecosystem. You don't bother to contemplate the speed of your recoveries. Its a given. But the unguarded moment considers your livers increasing struggle, and now you’re fucking concerned. Because that safety check of a blood test remains a little overdue. And suddenly you realize: Even here. Even alone amidst th

Quarter past seven. empty. the room, the night, the morning, everything. just like the minds of dreamers abandoned by the placation of tomorrow the fruitless hope a time that doesn't exist. Only the unending undulation of now the promised present: a letdown.