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August 6, 2011
Your eyes roll around in your head like a mad man's. I'm scared. I can feel the way your thoughts are broken. They send out cracks and cuts that pierce my own and make the world seem unsteady.

I need to sit? Can I sit? I don't feel so good.

I press my palms against the ground, trying to soak up the earth's calm, but your put your hand on my shoulder, and I shatter again.

I'm going to be sick.

"Can you see it?" you ask. "There's a monkey in that tree."

Your drugs are too much for me.