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October 19, 2005

Michele: Down in a Hole

My skin is walking off my bones. I’m uptight. Restless. I rub the skin on my arms until it flakes but it still feels like it’s crawling away.

I pace. Forward five. Turn. Back five. Five is all I can go in these shackles. I want to go ten, twenty, five hundred, home. I can’t.

It’s dark and damp and every sound is amplified. This place is cavernous. Yet I feel like I’m in a mousehole.

I hear footsteps, going away. A door slams, my heart jumps, my stomach drops.

I wonder when he’ll come back.

I pace forward five

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