Glycerine

It begins early, as soon as you wake up there's a rain cloud trying to beat its way into your chest and you're too tired to stop it though you know you ought to. It sets itself down on your left lung, breathes a heavy, sticky glue onto your organs and invites its friends. By lunch, there's a small party, by sundown it's a veritable rager and everything that could go wrong with your day, does. Your eyes blacken, your head swims, there's a mouse in the oven and all you do is lean over carefully and turn on the broiler. It's an analogy, and you know it.

Sit in the fiery silence of a Requiem, consider what other steps you could take, try to be the bigger person in a day that wants you belittled but come up short on how. Some days we must simply throw to the dustbin, feed to the wolves, better the day than you, better lose these precious hours than let your flesh decompose and disintegrate, tomorrow you will breathe easier again and there must be some potion can scrub the glue off your lungs, you will find it. Today is not the day to speak big words, today is the day to whisper soothing encouragement to your insides, swallow the last of the vodka, and move the fuck on.

A Requiem ends. It was not written for you.