I can't stay awake.
Between the gorilla sucking the condom off my lover's hand; the hierarchy battle between them.
-- next --
It hadn't occurred to me yet that there would be a day that I was sitting on the pot, desperately sending messages to the bucket of my groin, to the left slightly, and up a bit from there, to send it, to send them down. Desperately. Did I mention that already? The desperateness of this unholy attempt? To force something out of it's unwilling sock of comfort. I sat there thinking the longer I spend in here, the longer I am away from my phone, checking, and my phone, checking, checking, me. The sock of discomfort. I thought that I would arrive to left over messages of regret, sorrow and what's left, but instead, to 2:04 am (no messages).