Miles of dust beneath unsecured floorboards. The pelts of dead cats buried in the backyard. Nailing the windows closed from the inside. Alone with newly-unbottled thoughts and a distinct lack of humility. Labored breathing through an ocean of compunctions. Writing goodbye letters to every child I didn't conceive. Sleepless fortnights under the jagged caresses of butterscotch lungs. The inoculation of youth has been gone for years. I just never noticed until recently.

7:57 p.m. - 2020-04-01