My shadow forced itself into my head before the sun had melted the sky. I'm interrupted in the middle of one thousand hollow obsessive tappings. My paperdoll outline went to experience Death's Handshake. Imagined epiphanies and storybook endings written in the back-end of expectations. All that lay in wait was the static of television and the scripted droning of whitecoats. A crushing disappointment of familiarity made for shaky fingers and hasty escapes. Robbed of even the catharsis of grief by white eyes and solipsism.
12:21 p.m. - 2017-03-13
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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