Every year finds me a little more battered. I pick myself apart at the edges with obsessive fingernails. Unsurprisingly, stuffing starts to spill from my stitches and seams. I cannot relent. I am pursued by the devouring maw of obsolescence. To slow is to be swallowed. I am so very worn out some days.
I keep picking away every tiny piece of lint. Every stray thread. Every identifying idiosyncrasy. Pick pick picking at scabs until they peel.
8:43 p.m. - 2015-09-29
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
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