I change all the analogue clocks in the empty house by hand. Shaving down persistent memories an hour at a time. The lengthening shade of jagged concrete and fluttering rags. Heralding unnaturally short afternoons, confirmed by two unfeeling arms. I busy myself with cleaning ink splotches from my eyes. Scratched corneas and tear-streaked cheekbones in the twilight. Counting the pennies from a handful of sales of coarse poetry. The Matrix and it's empty-street drones pass me by; all my wires are sadly intact.
5:20 p.m. - 2021-07-15
Recent entries:
A Sanctuary on High - 2021-07-29
A Shell House - 2021-07-21
Welcome Back Spasm - 2021-07-21
Maybe Just Shut Your Fucking Mouth - 2021-07-15
When Learning Becomes Confirmation - 2021-07-15
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
Life-My-Way
Swordfern
Babyhead
Bridgecity
Blubbles
Murder
Secret-motel
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Frostopia