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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                               heat
                               ----

               summer is brutal. i lie awake every
               night, restless, beads of sweat
               rising on my neck, face, and thighs.
               the heat makes it impossible to
               concentrate, and my thoughts flicker
               like a hummingbird jumping from
               flower to flower. it's the heat that
               keeps me awake, the heat that makes
               me think instensely and unendingly
               about everything that comes to the
               surface from the depths of my brain
               and body. it's the heat that makes
               me want to crawl out of my own
               flesh and become someone else.

               when the air above the pavement
               visibly quivers and i can taste the
               grit of the city within my dry
               mouth, i feel dirty. it's the same
               feeling i have when i see my ex
               in the darkness of the club, or
               i hear a song that reminds me of
               the past. i want to run away,
               escape, cleanse myself in a deep
               clear pool. it's the heat that
               makes me think these things, these
               incoherent ramblings of a woman
               who loathes all that she is and
               all that she ever was.

               the heat feels like a pulse. a
               constant beat that reverberates
               through my brain and rocks my
               soul with it's eternal and
               relentless hum. it never lessens,
               never fades. the heat is like
               the razor that i once used to
               tease my flesh, sharp and bright.
               the heat is even a little like
               a love i once had, an immersion
               so complete and strong that i
               thought it would never end.

               there is something good about the
               heat. it goes away, it fades
               gently into crisp air and cool
               colors, kind of like the soft
               shuddering end of an orgasm,
               when the pulse finally ceases.
               i like the cold. death is cold.
               the heat reminds me too harshly
               that i am alive.

               palpable obscure

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