Trying to pick memories out of static. Glass beads shaped exactly like regret and covered with viscera. Piled and smashed together to try to fit the strangely-shaped divot in my soul. Far, far away somewhere, a hero of mine dies. Quietly and immemorially. The slow death of saccharine dreams in the raw sunlight. The days and weeks indistinguishable from apathy. The months are slowly and interminably scraped away. The sibilance for millions is all that remains.
4:38 p.m. - 2020-10-28
Recent entries:
Merry Happiness - 2020-12-23
Sorry, Songbird - 2020-12-23
Worldly Dairyfarm - 2020-12-16
The Oxidization of Life - 2020-12-16
Playing with playthings - 2020-12-09
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