I squirm in discomfort on a cushion of willow leaves. I can't get my shins to unlock. My fractured concentration drips distraction by fractions into the back of my throat. My face itches under the light of the moon. I need to re-stain my temples with the tri-annual veneer of youth. I feel filthy and strung out through my ribcage and spine. My shoulders are still wet from back-to-back showers. Icy an scalding, respectively. A full moon is due soon. Maybe I have lycanthropy of dissatisfaction.
10:50 p.m. - 2015-10-22
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