The ache of middle-age is real. As real as the overcast California skies that highlight winter. The middle of the night has found me digging fingers under my ribcage. The cost paid for a lack of self-control is a terminous flood. In time, the only choice left will be clean and chiseled lines made flesh. A reluctant paragon of healthy choices.
10:40 a.m. - 2017-01-30
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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