By sleeping I go elsewhere and somehow I can’t allow myself to go there because it’ll just end up bringing another day which isn’t exactly a rational cycle of swirling pinball thoughts.
Count something. Breath somehow. Do the sleep hygiene and the spoons. How many spoons is it? Or is that not how the spoon thing works.
It’s sideways rain that shifts directions under the bright blue sky but only in my mind and only sometimes – there’s no all. No nothing. Only all the in betweens.
Tricky when counting on things. They go away and haunt or something always past midnight when day is closer again.
Unfold and count the exhale. Forget the numbers and the paint and the holes in the bathroom wall. Fuck why bring up the fucking holes. Just stop.
Stop.
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