Everything outside is dead. The rain hasn't come in weeks and July's flowers are at the bottom of a compost heap. Even with wasteful use of the sprinkler, the grass stabs into your foot and breaks off like brown shards of an empty beer bottle. Even the frenzied cat that I feed each day seems to be shrivelling, stunted under the earth's giant heat lamp, never able to quench its wild thirst. Silently I wonder if I've caused this, my rotten core's finally slithered out and started killing my surroundings. While I hide my feelings under a confident peachy smile, my yard shows the world my trashed insides.
17 July 2012
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