Solipsism cuddles my midbrain like a syrupy lover. My heroism colludes with my narcissism somewhere behind the back of my conscious attention. At night, a high tide of closed eyes reminds me of the outside. Everyone else is Me. Opposite, and the same. It makes the edge of my disdain appropriately reflective. There's a reflection on myself in my salivary contempt.
12:31 p.m. - 2016-10-17
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Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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