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cat piss

February 24, 2009

She realized the justifying rant about the money was simply him, again, building a wall between them, him thinking that she might buy it, him, not really giving a shit either way. Not satisfied with waiting for tomorrows’ hell, choosing todays’ hell as well, she threw back the covers and stood. The floor, usually still chilly this time of morning, was warm. She looked down. Blood was puddling around her toes, running in little streams down along the insides of her calves. She smelled copper and salt and cat piss.

From → imagination

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