Kim Kolton's
Crime Wire

It hurts, it is painful but I am used to it,  I am very tired, but is till hurts, the headthat is. Pictures in my subconscious, emerges with flakes of  memory lingering within my dome. People around me knocking on my door, ringingon my doorbell. asking for mercy.

I wish that I could give them some, but my bag is empty.there is no mercy left. The little I have left expired a long time ago.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Rightnow I am experiencing leaking. I need a plug to stop it. Being an air balloonfull of oxygen can have its advantages. It gets hard if more than 2 people comealong for the ride though. Too heavy. Right this moment I am a scatter brain. Ineed air. breathing becomes so much more difficult when anxious, I have no ideawhy., in and out in and out. The never-ending cycle never stops. If I was aplant I could breath through my leaves. The roots underneath the ground wouldnourish me to keep me alive. The same roots would wither with me when I die.The grapes  are sweet and nutritious,but when too ripe ,becomes a drunken mans dream. Recovery is easier goingforward rather than backwards. Too me ,anyhow. Too my drunken friends, probablythe latter. The road is slippery even when drive ,I might be driving using thewrong gear. bumpedi bump! Oops, there goes my transmission. I did have thatchanged not too long ago, perhaps it isn’t my time yet to reach my goal. Icould walk but my shoes will not last and I refuse to walk barefooted. Besidesit would ruin my pedicure. Maybe I should hitchhike, I want to, but I ampetrified, not too long a go a beautiful girl disappeared form walking on abridge. She wore high boots just like me, she had long hair just like me. Shewas at the wrong place at the wrong time, just like me. I can still hear thesound of her heels on that bridge, waking towards nowhere into oblivion. It hasbeen one year now. If she would have walked all this time her heels would haveworn out. But she didn’t ,she stopped, she was forced to. Now she sleeps. Iguess the road to recovery is going to take longer than I though.