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November 22, 2016
Found a strange but compelling melody while whistling in my sleep, found its cue from the bend in the back of my ambition to excel at living my own death over and over, and it saved me for another day. Living a voluble time in my soul. I feel the urge to propel outward while diving inward. I feel the need to spit words like water on a flame that's getting out of control, but I run dry. The well is spent. I reach for a word, but it's not there. None of them are there anymore. I am spent.