Today I am Sick

Sick, like so much to do sick that I feel sick... I wish I could throw up but no gag reflex. 

Paper is a week late-- all on the down low, yyaaa know, my friends and brothers. 

Anxiety is something else. Makes it worse and worse till everything is put off... your so deep all you can escape to is sleep. But that is no escape, my dears, since everything is still being put off when you wake up. It all still hurts. You have still disappointed people... hurt people. The past is still a vibrant yellow of sickness that puts you right back in the bathroom wishing you could throw up, then curling up in your bed when you can't. Your still bigger than you want to be because you eat to avoid the things you put off, people, places, what you want, who's missing you, who your missing. Its more and more and more until, you wake up again. 
Vicious cycle seems inappropriate, and the wrong far to over done one... fuck phrases. This is agony, bright red, slow burning, aching, screaming, deafening. A writer cannot describe pain anymore than one describes how it is to be drowning knowing how to swim up, like when your sick today.