Overcoat.

It’s never easy to write about real stuff. What’s slightly more bearable is to write about a shadow of what’s really going on. Taking two, three, even ten times more effort to play dress up with the words I want to say. A necktie over a tattered shirt. If only. Rather, it’s an overly ornate overcoat around a naked body. Ready to meet the world.

Morning screams of FUCK YOU translated as dust mites chewing away at a discarded dress.

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