Ivan Musoke

the moaning after

I have what’s identifies as a hangover, but is really a needy headache. I figure if I keep playing dumb, it will pack its bags and leave…perhaps in search of a more accommodative host. As it is right now, it has seemingly inherited the undesirable traits of a clingy needy stalker.
I’ve tried, to be fair, backtracking to last night so I can at the very least piece together how I met this mutha. My effort thus far has received tremendous applause from futility.
“come here dear boy, we are kindred spirits, you and I. We birds of a feather must…”
I shut out the last part as if that’ll make it less true…less bitter.
Curiously, I seem to have survived the nasty after taste that usually accompanies my remorse.
My eyes may have fared well, but I won’t check.

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