By Sloane Rhodes on September 04, 2011
Fissures run through the images of my mind. Family fun whispers to dust. Family whispers fun to dust. Cat dander lies under my nose. Kid noisiness abounds. Fissures abandon all hope. Fatigue forges through the fissures, soon turning to gorges. Deep, deep dark grottos of pain. Imaginings of a life never to be lived. Failure is a fissure that just keeps growing. Failure is a fissure that has no hope. Fissures swallowing up hope and happiness. Enough fissures will create an avalanche of affect.
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