Soft mumbling pressed against over-oiled legs. Straight black tresses as a brittle veil against uncertainty. Unintelligible whisky whispers under half-broken lights. The masculine labor of provided consumption. A brief trickle quickly turning into stagnant puddles. A month's worth of letters waiting at home to be re-read. The sore calves of old age, and 3 A.M insomnia. Finding the heartstopping lectures of a blonde beast. Hushing my ego in the quiet suffocation of erasure.
11:49 a.m. - 2021-09-17
Recent entries:
Patter Son - 2021-10-01
Don't Like Very Much - 2021-10-01
A Shortfall of Coal - 2021-10-01
Holes Only Lead Downward - 2021-09-22
The Uncertainty of Coal - 2021-09-22
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