Scratching out lovenotes to lust in the subdued hours before midnight. An inventory of months has confirmed; this is all there ever was. Shame, guilt, and desire. Dressed up in the garishness of civilization. The fullness of meaningless frenzied activity. Attention split into broken mirror pieces. Daydreaming of intimate cancers, and the inevitability of dead songbirds. The conditional exclamation point of gradually emptied screens. The ghosts of porcelain dolls waiting in the soft minutes of quiet.
11:12 a.m. - 2021-09-17
Recent entries:
Don't Like Very Much - 2021-10-01
A Shortfall of Coal - 2021-10-01
Holes Only Lead Downward - 2021-09-22
The Uncertainty of Coal - 2021-09-22
Mostly Unbroken Repetition - 2021-09-17
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