A star made of diamond thrums through the universe. The sound of a giant cosmic gong vibrates with the consideration of a drill. It erases inspiration and worry in a wash of ambivalent frequencies.
I turn back to my collection of benign tumors. I dip my fine detail brush into rainbow pigments wrung of mental rubbish. Every brushtroke on the pale, cancerous feelings tastes of a sickening sweetness. I derive saccharine satisfaction from it.
A sharp juxtaposition to the ripping of mental tendons and tearing of emotional ligaments that still aches joyously at the abuse of my own hands.
11:05 p.m. - 2014-09-29
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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