A Fish Dinner in Memison. A Confounded letter

So tis' mispronounced, I said, pronouncing sentence. The words leading away from the back of my head into aches of one sort or another. Tension lasts before it snaps back into threefold flesh space. Headache, missing gaps, and slowing sparks not ever under or over control given the summary of circumstances. Migraine of the manifold instances come about throughout.

A fall of pained screeching behind one eye, aye, what's all this then, again. Or else a shrinking headband, banning the words I want to speak and lost are the lessons of this time. A cackling bright parrot of several language symptoms allowing no rest, repeating themselves over argument. A spin needle fix of fractured freeze white-out with eventual glass that walks blind.

This was a result, oh yes, resulting in many more coming and going with words and mental art metal. Needles into softness. Thorn on smoothness and tears bare into beaded fabric.

Obscure apotheosis given to fantasy novels of diffident different squared places persisting in escapism. Very thankfully giving some rest. No semen liquid fantasies become this stressed given my gargantuan preoccupations. So headaches become a chance prize price to pay for listening to this afterwards and during, sometimes. It is sad when I cannot see to read the books. When....

I cannot hold you across my chest. I cannot strive to wake you naked with simple silent touches. I cannot see to pleasant pleasure painting when this comes unexpectedly holding everything up. When I lose the words before me.

I can, however, ever, learn to live with it and them given that they have learned to live with me. The medication will see to that of course. Changing one addiction for another. They are amongst you in black and white Sci Fi.

So, this price for living and hunting is gladly paid when the pain has gone, of course. Not the during, under duress. That would be more hurt than enough.

Strangely, I want to paint when I hurt. I want to release my stickiness when my head pounds. I want to swanky fuck when I'm further from it than ever. Of being unable capable of holding my own.

Depressed with the pain, polarised ecstatic when it is removed. That was the way of things given I could not have what I wanted and Alexion was then no longer available for confident conscience. So I make do.