Fizzy Tat

Oh no I’ve filled my head with shit. Diverting fizzy tat that as I lie in bed waiting for sleep, comes back around with a slap. And then I’m asleep and my brain is undoing. Not enough time in a night when there’s all the other gumpf to unwind. From all these years. The media is so much filler. Brain cell stuffing. How much can I fit in before it bursts? Or turns sour like a tumour. Then the tunes get me. If there’s not images bouncing around there are the tunes. And these can be worse, like infinite loops; hooky as hell. Oh no I’ve filled my head with shit, and I want more. I’m a glutton for digits awaiting an exhaustion that’s no relief.

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