March 8, 2004

Pistols at dawn.
Seven colour banner, streaming from the sky.
Sign me out, sign me off.
Crawling through this. Sludge of dream.
Dragging nothing more than irrational sorrows, she looked back and realised that the sun had set and her sins had set her body on fire.
The smoke was oily and warm, a blanket she wrapped ’round her shaking figure.
Five tylenol and one sleeping pill. she’ll be alright.
she’s dead.

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