is a light green, kind of mild sea-sickness, about as painful as being hit by a loaf of bread. If he’s a slut, er, lady’s man, and I have a lack of inspiration, where does thinking even get me. I need to get way past the basic, breathe in and out again mentality. I need to describe myself in a suit of armour with the truest lance in the land. Aim. I’m getting at aim.
settles in slowly, takes a nap before it even thinks about going anywhere. It’s easy, it makes life softer, the blows don’t feel as intense, but the stomach pain gets worse. Burning bile, a slight tinge of vomit in the throat at all times.
soft comedown on prescription medication.
It’s not the feeling it's the lifestyle. The dull bright beauty of the colours.
And the kids, that keep me alive. Because the music is boring me to death.