Locusts

The dollhair is starting to fray. The suspension bridges that bind the neurons in my brain are sagging deeper and deeper. If Indiana Jones tries to cross them, they may snap. And then...shit...I'm getting lost in this analogy. See what I mean? Jenga, goddamnit. Giant, man-eating crocodiles and Jenga. Tumble, crumble, scream, bite, rip, chew.

The novelty of being unencumbered by romantic attachments is wearing off. It's wearing thin. It's wearing a hole in my face. Locusts are coming out of it. They're talking to me. I'm grateful for the company.