Omnipresent immolated ash, from thousands of collective years, pock-marks my lungs. The quiet asphyxiations of a golden-orange haze. Sinus headaches reduce meetings to communal comas. Another month of gold bricks and disdain. A brief flirtation with being disgusted with Sundaes. The smell of broken necks in the melting valley. Sheared tree limbs and scar-tissued bile-ducts. And the blood-orange moonlight as the nighttime vigil of our well-earned, deific rage.
4:49 p.m. - 2021-08-20
Recent entries:
Evaporation of Direction - 2021-09-10
Delta Go-Around - 2021-09-03
Soap-stuck shadows - 2021-08-27
The Beginning of a Return to Choking - 2021-08-27
A Curious Kind of Addict - 2021-08-20
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