Our relationship escalator ground to a halt with the sound of barked orders. She resists a sobbing flight into the mist and the cold. Later, we patch things up with an elixir of her tears, crushed beneath my sometimes sadism. It sets the tone for a weekend of patchwork heroism. Little pieces of vice masquerading as satiety. None of the fragments orient in a way that doesn't leave them as broken liabilities. Still, we manage to snatch some comfort from a sea of fading stars between the skeletal boughs of the backyard willow tree.
9:14 p.m. - 2016-01-18
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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