Day Three Gajillion Whatever

Woke up this morning
In a sickly pit
I sneezed so hard
I had to shit.

Another day turns and my heart is still heavy.

I curse.

One of the true shipmates of mine is quite adept in his distilling craft. He was capable at conjuring what he has dubbed “Demon Rum.” If I were a paranoid soul I’d question my identity had been revealed. My confusion: It works on my spirit. It works well, and today is welcomed with the still embrace of Melancholy. He smiles at my arousal. “It has been awhile,” says He. “Quite too long,” says I.

Now these damnable sea-folk have got me speaking like them.

Perhaps said craftsman shouldst be best left on the nearest dock. His brew would serve only to lengthen my search for the lost children.

Maya laughs a shrill laugh that strikes fear in the passing gulls.