I get called in by a bald man who apparently finds it interesting to talk about psychology in front of me, as if he just read it upon an old, rotten shelf with an empty pizza box. He gets annoyed as I don’t answer up to the point that he yanks my shoulders forward as I stare into his big black eyes and corny hairstyle combed so badly that I can see that he is bald.
It’s canon. It’s a nightmare.
I chant that in my head and write that in my notebook, line after line.
“You should get out!”
It’s canon.
“You’ll rot here”
It’s a nightmare.
Then he yanks my arm forward hissing the phrases into my mouth.
A kiss so mutual.
Day Sixteen
It’s canon. It’s a nightmare.
I chant that in my head and write that in my notebook, line after line.
“You should get out!”
It’s canon.
“You’ll rot here”
It’s a nightmare.
Then he yanks my arm forward hissing the phrases into my mouth.
A kiss so mutual.
Day Sixteen
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