Until the cold feet come tap, tap, tapping.. Soon big black heavy boots are crunching through my head. There is a war raging in my stomach.
I sit here in my purple tights and my eyeliner and gaze down into my tea. I wonder how my legs have grown into these tentacle roots that grip my chair and lock themselves in thick tangles to the house. It has a curious iron hold. I will wipe off my make-up and start again tomorrow.
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