Heated arguments that taste of spit staples. Looking up and finding myself alone, with a mouthful of vitriol. Returning to an endless washing of dried blood from brittle nails. Wringing acid and indifference from my tongue onto the pages of a leftover notebook. Wretched proposals, gilded with politeness, sent to consenting adults. There is no negotiation. There is only diplomatic rejection. With Melvin Udall in mind, I reach for another bar of soap.
8:06 p.m. - 2020-04-15
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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