I'm clearing my throat.
For whatever I'm about to write/say, apparently.
I'm here. Still here. Writing stuff.
Sometimes that's enough.
Knuckles dug/deep/burrowing into my eyes.
Wiping away the crust of days gone past, every night. Everything.
Here are my ears opened.
My head starting to turn.
Creaking sometimes. Sometimes snapping quickly left to right.
Like old parts in a factory that work best with age.
Like new parts that need to be broken in.
My eyes have seen enough but...I'm a baby. I'm a newborn fucking baby.
Every blink of mine is a lifetime, wanted/used/wasted.
I think that I'm at the toddler's stage now.
My teenage years are going to be a shit show.
Get ready FOR WHAT COMES AFTER THAT.