In this installment, I am feeling sick and asphyxiated (and not even in the way Irfan uses the idea).
I am queasy from
notions
history
disease
responsibility
menthol lights.
My tongue is mildly scalded and has been for the past day. I mean not for this to be even mildly allegorical although the penchant for rhyme these days is as natural as my tendencies towards self-harm/melancholy.
The fever burns in my rims and I hope again for ardor.
Or at least an ill-aimed reflection from an ill-ailed idiot.
idiot.
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