With each passing perfection Each faded, withered beauty I am more myself. The monster made flesh. Crumbling from the inside out. See me now? See what I am? Or not quite yet? Give it time For sweetness to sour The rot to spread.
I’m sitting here contemplating another night without sleep. Self-flagellation or pain avoidance I can’t tell. I tell myself if I stay up it’s longer until I have to go to work. If I go to bed now I blink and it’s time to walk in the cold and dark to another 14 hour shift. I … More The All Nighter
Spitfire Words 