Waking up with the sunrise to water withered crops in the backyard. Every night, the trees outside growing a little more dense. A cage of moss-gilded branches. Morning sojourns to the last remains of a river. Fishing nearly-skeletal frogs from pools of dead silt. The light from the sun a foggy shade of ivory. The rhythmic clinking of unbedecked flag-chains against long-rusted poles. Scraping desiccated blackberries into a decades-old backpack. An air raid siren from the next town over screams without an audience. It's time to sleep.
12:31 a.m. - 2020-01-09
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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