Apr 02, 2002 23:11
Dear bittersweet NyQuil, take me to the lands of comatose; envelope me in your lush red liquid of death; cure all my woes and protect my peaceful corporal shell until the silence is shattered by the sharp hymns of my chronometer, like a thousand daggers in my ears.
sick,
sleepy,
poetry
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Comments 6
*bows head*
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*a single, appreciative tear*
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Hey, if you ever get Scarlet Fever you should consider writing sonnets.
Sorry to hear you're so ill.
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It helps to be mentally dilusional
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