Phlebotomist Joe

What is passing for thought these days:

The way the silence feels when it feels like a physical weight, held against the tongue, that is a burden to move.  That the words had better be worth the strain and generally, never are.

Being told thank you.

What enormous anxiety and suffering and self-inflicted psychic wounds can be endured until the moment it all cannot.

The tailings left behind in the name of survival.

Why anyone should trust anything at all when no one is really willing to let their hands off the guardrails in someone else’s name.  Or those people are too few to truly be a significant segment of the survey.

The ebb and flow of desire.  The exhaustion that can pull my heart so firmly in one direction or another.

The need of the mind to work and feed and churn and devise stratagems and observe and list.

 

 

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