I am turning off my brain, and if anyone calls it will go straight to voice mail. Please don’t leave me any messages. My eyelids are closing. My fingers are slowing as I write. The rain outside somehow has me drenched. My shoulders become less tense, and my neck is loosing the ability to hold up my head. What good is being lonely if you can’t summon up enough of yourself to scream? I feel myself disappearing. Remember how it feels to sleep? To go completely limp and exit your life for a few hours, silently declaring those few hours to be the best part of everyday? My mind has cracked open, and everything inside has spilled out and onto a floor in a room that no one ever enters.
Trey Misérables:  Mia Girolimon

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