Canteens full of lotus-squeezed rage. Doors locked against the fallout. Dozens of angry shouts, decanted into back into dissonance. The alchemy of turning expectations into the deep and healing sleep of a heroin cook. Dreams splitting in half as the whey separates from The Way. Lesbians playing pretend at betrayed biology, somewhere in the lonely castle clouds of unconsciousness. Waking up to a wilting flower garden. There's no water left to hydrate desiccated petals. I lost the faucet handle somewhere in my graveyard maze of relationships a long time ago.
11:24 p.m. - 2019-07-22
Recent entries:
Empty Currents - 2019-08-01
Suffocated Ties - 2019-07-30
Succubusted - 2019-07-29
Motel Musings - 2019-07-22
Infernal Progress - 2019-07-22
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