Digging through the garbage for accidentally thrown out work. And a raison d'ĂȘtre. Trash becomes stained-glass loveliness. Little sister lenses of marble floors and red satin drapes. Squandered time, squandered life. Perpetual touch in the darkness from a broken Italia. There is no reclaiming youth. Nostalgia used to be a medical condition, don'tcha know. There is no praise for the burden of performance. The other half can never understand.
12:51 p.m. - 2018-03-19
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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