Blockage.

Heavy eyes and a sore back.
Feet contorted and broken into shapes not meant by laws of nature.
A howling from outside rings eerie, but the apocalypse is far from upon us, instead a thousand litres of water pour from the sky, raining chaos onto a frightened rabbit eyed conductor.

Days after the rebirth of the sun and the gluttony is slowly washed away. 

Broken boots in need of repair.
A blockage.
A singular die, cast down the road rolling nothing but fives all the way home.
The slow dripping is killing me; bring forth the cascading waves of information.

A blockage of the mind rings eerie when you can see through the dam, into the swirling tempestial waters, Harpies and thoughts crashing together as one, but silent in the ephemeral matter.
Get the fuck out of my head; onto string, onto paper, onto acetate, anywhere…or is there nothing there?

Did I just dream I had a full mind, has it always been empty?

No.

Stop playing mind games.

The time’s always got me BURNT!

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