Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe

A monkey on my back, a vile specimen caught in my throat, a heavy heart offering peace only in storms and snow: my existence is weighty. It doesn’t strike me as odd until it batters a conversation into a sad, begging pulp, or until it changes my sternum into a lead brick. This is how I am. I imagine this is how many are. No, that’s a lie, I don’t imagine, I assume.

Can’t sleep so I decided to write. Not surprisingly, that’s not working well.

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2 thoughts on “Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe

  1. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I’m one of those you imagined and assumed. You put this feeling, this debilitating thought process, this crushing visceral reaction, to perfect words.

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