01 November 2011

I feel it in my stomach, heavy, dead. The taste on my tongue contaminates my mouth, makes my throat dry, my lips crack.

The feeling is dread, the taste; fear.

Surprisingly, my hands aren't sweaty, I must have wrung them dry. And my breathing, despite the foulness inside me, is steady and even. i hope my voice can mirror that.

(read nothing into this, it's just a description)

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