A room with no lights on. Headphones blocking out the world. I read dozens of poems by the glow of pixels. A minor key toy music box plays somewhere in the distance. Frustration burns itself into my head in the outline of make believe women that don't live long enough. I carefully preserve one of the characters onto a shiny metal key, and tuck it into my pocket. This programming is as much biology as script. Get out of my head.
3:44 p.m. - 2017-11-20
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
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea