Shoulders broken from too many failed flying attempts. The low-frequency hum of inevitability suffusing the concrete. Selling scavenged bone chips from the dusty canyon graveyards of my youth. A moment of clarity in the quiet of night; listening to the songs of my twenties and realizing I've become the aging man grasping at the relics of nostalgia. The break of twilight has become the end of naptime. Bundled together with tendon-needles and restlessness. Still, there is contentedness in the black clouds and stuffed animals.
11:51 a.m. - 2021-08-13
Recent entries:
Soap-stuck shadows - 2021-08-27
The Beginning of a Return to Choking - 2021-08-27
A Curious Kind of Addict - 2021-08-20
Pixie with a D - 2021-08-20
Happiness Squared - 2021-08-13
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