She drinks the infirm of the feeble and frail and chases it with saccharine altruism. Sickly sweet sodapop made of self-righteousness.
She needs a filter for her philters. One that pumps the helpful insidiousness of selfishness into her jugular. She can't competently equip authenticity, yet. She's still so sure she belongs with the rest of the children's hammer blocks. Conditioned to believe her round peg fits in the square holes at the cacophonous insistence of infants.
8:03 p.m. - 2015-11-18
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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