Tearing absent wings from a succubus made real. Her sighs fill the gaps in my life, and illuminate the corners of my loneliness. We practice the tending of rose buds, nourishing them with bone powder and stifled screams. The inevitable exhaustion creeps in, and she sets about stealing my soul. Diphenhydramine-induced restlessness in a scorching icebox. Unawake-visions of sailors, on a tiny lake in the middle of July. Melting to death next to the poison oak in the California heat. Waking up with scabbed shins and split palms. Her wings were just fabric; her horns, just papier mache.
11:36 p.m. - 2019-07-22
Recent entries:
Splashdiamond - 2019-08-06
Empty Currents - 2019-08-01
Suffocated Ties - 2019-07-30
Succubusted - 2019-07-29
Motel Musings - 2019-07-22
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