Staring at the empty space between calloused hands. Seeing the slow disappearance of years in the carved into broken fingers. A piano plays the same chords over and over somewhere in the distance. It's the sound of respite, played over the nonstop media reels of Big Brother and the Minute of Hate.Train tracks rattle in the distance and carry away my childhood. It was never worth chasing, after all. After the hard-earned arthritis of hundreds of thousands of words, there's nothing left to chronicle. No ambition remains except the biology of obsolescence.
11:46 p.m. - 2019-07-22
Recent entries:
A Land of Dead Royalty - 2019-08-06
Splashdiamond - 2019-08-06
Empty Currents - 2019-08-01
Suffocated Ties - 2019-07-30
Succubusted - 2019-07-29
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