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The day tastes rotten,
Rancid and sour, like a lemon from being out too long in the sun.
The inside of my mouth tastes like yesterday’s dreams that have turned stale from being imprisoned in time.
A sleepy boredom has set in like rigor mortis, stiffening my senses.
I need a bath.
To revive me from this ennui, this tiny little death.
To wash away the old fragmented ideas that swirl around in my head like dead bodies.
And to don a few things that I think may look good on me.
A bit of courage.
And a chutzpah that wordlessly announces to the world that I no longer have any fucks to give.