Bare feet turning grayer from scalding concrete. Palms cut on chipped and makeshift architecture. Dependency fatigue. I was never taught how to treat my body with kindness as I grow old. And yet. Hard-earned lines slowly melting beneath gestures toward graceful aging. In the aching evenings, packing and repacking a G.O.O.D bag. Studying classic texts on bushcraft with borrowed youth. Slowly accruing the precise amount of survivalism to avoid the ostensible apocalypse. And die in peaceful obscurity. Anyone is invited.
11:46 p.m. - 2020-08-19
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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