Melting into the arms of apotheosis. Feather down comforters and memory foam mattresses. The opulence of upper-middle class adulthood. Whispered and accidental confessions across an ocean of pillows. Hearing the rage of ungratefulness whistle within my ribs. A staccato of punctuated points. A silence that fills up the entirety of aged lungs. The inevitable drowning of the both of us to sleep.
2:37 p.m. - 2020-01-22
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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