There is an un-easy, nauseating feeling flinging off my ribs, erupting against this intolerant flesh. I'm running on drained and that bleak red warning light is hysterically flashing. All I require is an out of gas halt; a rest stop on a solitary, vacant, dirt path to numb myself, as an old cassette player systematically serenades me while I dream. This isn't supposed to happen every time he sympathetically kisses my insanity & me good-bye before stepping on that plane. Too many miles and too many days makes this heart beat livid. A numbing good-bye means a reckless clash, but don't think I am unhappy; I've swam in this pond before - wherever - on another occasion.
I am a neurotic disease. He is a habitual cure - only he was never supposed to be my cocaine.
Edited to add:
I am a neurotic disease. He is a habitual cure - only he was never supposed to be my cocaine.
Edited to add:
VIEW 15 of 15 COMMENTS
rpg:
I can well imagine that nipple rings would be a problem for breast feeding. What might cause the emergency surgery?
rpg:
ah. I understand now. and I think that sometimes the medical profession does make rapid assumptions without the facts. I suppose that you'd want them to be able to act quickly if you're being wheeled into emergency and you're under duress/pain/etc, but .....nipple rings?