I pin my eyes open with brass tacks. The fog in my mind isn't easily dispersed. A placebo of forced alertness might be just an injection away.
I massage my temples with a tattoo of concentric spirals. I need them to drill like a corkscrew, but instead they only orbit like a flirtatious moth.
I remind myself that inspiration is a capricious and limited resource. Like purity. Like honesty.
10:41 p.m. - 2015-03-24
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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