I deliver myself as a care package to needy women. The shoulder to cry on. The chest to relax against. The entity to blame for hurt feelings. The lover who steals their soul. The corner-chewed calendar on my fridge shows scores of criss-crossing dates. For all of my posturing, maybe I'm just their flesh puppet. The doll that comes when called, and is filled and powered with artificial worth.
1:02 p.m. - 2016-10-31
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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