There is no eulogy suitable for my inconsideration. I stare with voided hazel eyes at a pile of bodies. A pauper's mass grave of my discarded lovers. They look like grotesque albino spiders, limbs broken and akimbo. Their lifeless eyes nudge my prefrontal memory during the crescent moons, sometimes. Their indignation highlighted in others' faces.
I return home to an empty nest. Simple twigs and tinsel twined together into contentment. Welcoming solitude again feels like returning to alcoholism. Thin and grey and swallowing, like a cheap motel.
9:47 p.m. - 2015-09-23
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
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea