Fatigue clings, gripping
feverish self hatred when
they scold and point, turn-
ing red, hating the fragile
man who needs their acceptance.
.
Most Days, They’re Embarrassed, and Most Days, They’re Mean
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Blog: Stillfugue Topics:Fiction, Poetry, Essays
stillfugue 
#1 by calvin on March 7, 2017 - 9:40 pm
Savages, all of them.