I was hungover; the word slipped my mind

I will call myself in all manners a coward;

hear the slight lurch the slight crunch the thick skin splintering amid rivulets of translucent fluids – even so I mask it pettily in sweetness

but the state of the teeth disagree; the angle of the jaw protests

I want sweet words and gentle whispers but I shall provide all manner of rot, all depths of intoxication; don’t worry that you’re still finding the means to bear the sensation

you’re just one of us. and maybe more so than I think.

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