I pack enough belongings to disappear into a glass coffin for a weekend, barely large enough for two. Taped together from hand-me-down social security and offspring entitlements, it's only a half step up from pressboard shanty home. I go begrudgingly, with obligation as my primary fuel of motivation. The catalytic gunshot thrust of lust has evaporated, and all that is left is fumes of vanilla perfume and an infinity of midday unconsciousness.
11:33 p.m. - 2016-03-10
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
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