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Is there any other way out of this
skull? I’ve drugged it, drilled holes in it, shot it
full of electricity. Nothing. There’s bliss
in pain, yes. But not release. I mean, shit,
Murdoch’s fog still creeps in. I am blurring
in front of the mirror. I’m freaking out.
Maybe ghosts are just us dead forgetting
who we are? Without memory I doubt
I am going to be saved, find a path
out of this woods. Lover, do not leave me.
I am afraid. Perhaps I have always
been this afraid, I do not know. My wrath,
my laugh, my fears, my love I am sorry
no, no, no do not sink into this haze.