splinter

my soul hurts.  it aches with the dull throbbing of a contusion under two fingers of pressure.  the fact that time is slipping away from me did not matter so much when that time was sucked dry of pleasure.  now it rushes past, taunting my parched throat with its oozy wetness.  i want to purr again at the end of the day.  and wake up without wanting to vomit.