good night sweetheart.
It's as if im being suffocated by large blocks of ice. The bottoms of my feet, my back, my face, my thighs - I press at the ice. Each effort succeeds in postponing suffocation by establishing a pain that suffocation cannot contain. The pain hems and haws in suffocation, and joyful is the silence of its disappearing crest. I wish I had bee born without limbs.