b thang.

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last night, i dreamt:
that i coughed up an entire mouthful of phlegm so sticky that when i spat the two-coughs worth cloud of shit into the sink some of it had harded like shards of bendy plastic and i had to wretch like morning sickness to feel free of it.
that i sat in a cafe with enormous ceilings and enormous chairs, and we ordeded food but i had to leave, and i was overcome with the feeling that i was abandoning my friend into the utter empty lonliness i feel when a friend goes home after staying the night; rainy days.
whilst i was sleeping, my face sticky with the creams and tinctures of girlhood, these images and guttural feelings of sleep flew in and out of my mind at appalling speed, the constant agon of sleep and reason waging in my warm little skull. whilst i lay, warm and despondent, my soft, hot body floating, i dreamt of these disgusting images, things which repeat in my mind as i cough over the kitchen sink.
things that circulate and surface in the inner soup of my brain over and over, like:
"human papilloma virus".
the feeling of tonguing the narrow dip of a salmon's single vertebrae from inside my bony sandwich.
and, occasionally the phrase "our faces numbed by cocaine", from a story i once read.
these memories retain themselves in me like a perverted plant who sets it's vicious seeds in the fur of passing animals and sits, malevolent, in the damp corners of brain, waiting to disgust me;
giving me the strange sensation of delicious horror i've always got from reading about dead animals, torture, slavery, victorian crime.
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