I can hear sirens, sirens

Tried to listen to Lana Del Rey yesterday. Almost died. So I try again this morning like someone that is addicted to anguish or someone that believes she can overcome pain by running
directly at it. I reach into the airing cupboard to replenish the toilet paper. I pick up three rolls instead of one. Someone is talking and I can’t decipher a word through the refrain: ‘black beauty’. Is the music even on yet? No. Not yet, and yet it’s on repeat…somewhere. I used to disappear from sadness here. And now the memory of disappearing from sadness makes me sad. Crying. Press pause. Fight through the pain. Press play. You love this. You must love this. You live for this. You were born to die.


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