The cold and damp is slowly seeping into my bones, undermining my pseudo-cheerful attitude, cradling me in the rich darkness of a rainy fall evening. Leaves scuttle across the street with hollow skeletal grace, streetlights cast an otherwordly, plasticine glow on the slick black pavement, and a lyrical, haunting echo of a forgotten wind-chime reverberates cold and sharp through the air. I live for nights like this. The whiskey kicks hot in my stomache, flooring my senses-- (I am not drunk, but emotionally levelled: cold and sane) and the thought of you pressed warm against my naked body leaves me shivering and alone. So goes the comfort of depression, blackness scuttling through my mind, like the leaves of yesterday moving quietly across the asphalt world to their graves.

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