Pastel charcoal skies hold the secrets of my underdeveloped life. The voice of freckles narrates my life in the chambers between my ears. It says "I don't understand the people in this place". It's a familiar echo made of dying stars and silver spiderweb strands.
I punch the slow-motion button on the video-capture of my life. I watch the grainy playback and marvel at how marvelously nondescript it is.
11:39 a.m. - 2016-10-24
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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