The rage of freckled faces is predictable and benign. Sincerity crinkles like paper as it tumbles from my mouth. Midnight messages illuminate sickly, aging faces with a wan, neon glow. Accusations of script-writing would hurt more if I hadn't already reconciled the truth of it. The thing about curse of knowledge, is that you forget how much it weighs. Like the way an obese person has tree-trunk thighs and diamond calves. My shoulders carry first-world burdens that I'm smart enough to keep my goddamn mouth shut about. Perspective and self-cognizance don't need championing. I look forward to Taro Snow tea and dreams of lipstick lesbians betraying their biology.
11:37 a.m. - 2017-03-06
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
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Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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