She remains the manic muse with the zippered lips. Her heart is made of cracked and cloudy glass, and is easily seen through her rib cage under the light of a half-smiling moon. We've left lustful splinters inside one another. Countless pieces of flak that taste like perfume and burn as they turn septic. Cauterization by live coals and her delicate, absentee hand is sufficient only as a distraction. The world hiccups every time she breathes into innocuous electron spaces.
3:14 p.m. - 2016-03-20
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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