Arid words for miles and miles. Years of sun makes for plentiful deserts. Snakes and scarabs retreat to the shade of scattered cacti. There are no people here. Only tourists, lunatics, and scientists. The writing must continue. Even as the hands split from the desiccation.
4:22 p.m. - 2020-01-15
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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