Mâlain Diaries 5 - Dry Heat
It’s ten the bells say, but my eyes will not open.
Sluggish, lugubrious steps
that is too fast for me. Leeeeentemeeeeent
The fly happy in his 40C state
dances around my giant
Bulbous grave of a head.
Mine thickens like wet rolled tar in July.
A frog whose heart beat in Winter
Can only beat once.
Must get through.