The unpainted face of a lipstick lesbian rises from graveyard clouds. Years of undisturbed earth fall from her pale shoulders. Fresh lines etched deep into skin weathered from the death of life. New wisdom, carried back from another place, tumbles not from her mouth. But instead from her eyes. A closer look into her wingless orbs reveals an absence of stars. The galaxy that used to live inside her head has been emptied. All that remains is the hazy opacity of anxiety, and adopted ideas.
10:00 p.m. - 2019-02-20
Recent entries:
Heart Transplant - 2019-02-27
Sashaying Children - 2019-02-27
A Termination - 2019-02-27
The Lies of No Strings - 2019-02-20
To Speak Easily - 2019-02-20
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