existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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5. Scorching Colds

 

Colds

are stupid things.

 

They have a stupid name as well.

Cold.

But when you have a cold, you aren't cold.

You are burning hot and then icy like

cracks on frozen lakes

left splintering amongst

white snow drops.

 

You're nose

feels like a tunnel;

constantly jammed

like all the traffic lights are on

red.

Then the lights go green

and it's a sudden

rushing flood.

 

You're throat

feels as if someone

has poured searing liquid

down it,

and most,

simply add to the liquid

by drinking boiling beverages like

tea.

 

I turned to cookies and ice cream and crisps

and chocolate as a cure.

Silly,

really,

because it should have been fruit and relaxation.

 

What can I say?

My desire to be thin

merely forms in fat

and calories.

 

And the weather was most horrific.

It did not rain but there were no gold rays.

Instead,

everything just remained

bleak.

Bleak.

Bleak.

Bleak.

 

Night descended,

rather fast I must say,

and all I can see through the beige-brown fabric of my curtains

is a softly gleaming

lamp post coloured amber.

Which is rather pleasant because the colour is so warm.

Like my bed sheets.

 

-Monday, 25th May

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