My guts are a sinkhole. Imploding.
I can't fill my lungs and the world is flat, lacking depth.
My thoughts hover constantly - awake or sleeping - around and around my TwinnyB. She's done badly for a couple of weeks and she doesn't know how she resisted taking a walk last night. I asked if there are any new wounds...yes...a cigarette to the neck. 'just like mommy'
I'll have to remind her that that was mommy's very last self injury.
Three decades 'clean'.
Do the same.
please...
No comments:
Post a Comment