The Stream Flows…

The duration doesn’t seem to matter, I always wake up exhausted.

I’m trying to keep face, I’m trying to maintain a social life, wear the mask…

I hope poetry tomorrow to be as cleansing as I’ve grown to expect, though my enjoyment of it may start to waver in the face of the anxiety surely to spike via the group I’ve convinced to attend this week.

The more the merrier, or so they say…

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