An empty quill gathering dust. Not for lack of ink, but inspiration. Dying the slow death of suffocation via inattention. Stuck in the limbo between pragmatism and aspiration. When productivity isn't enough to keep lungs full. The sharpened point of Maslow's Pyramid, bright as a halo. Self-transcendence as the last inky smudge of the temperament inventory. Puncture wounds as fetters for presence and mindfulness. Every breath brought closer to being drowned to sleep.
10:50 a.m. - 2018-09-17
Recent entries:
Slice of Divine - 2018-10-01
No Different - 2018-10-01
Lines-to-Land - 2018-09-26
Ninety Nine Reprieves - 2018-09-26
Southways - 2018-09-26
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