I can feel it sinking in, my old familiar, rot-gut friend. Tonguing its disease between my ears, down my spine, and through my limbs. Sinking its teeth as I try to find a way through the fog of time. Through lifetimes of silence. Through lifetimes of self-doubt. My tongue's locked behind sharp teeth, only snapping for air, so as not to speak. My memory's a wasteland with mountains of lies, with failure and contempt filling its skies. I am ruin.

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