Vodka shots administered by superfluous candlelight. Grimaces and then giggles as a framework. A filthy room-turned-neotenous abattoir, drops of not-black-blood pointedly splattered. Staggered doorframes and stained porcelain floors. The clarity of serendipity at One In The Morning. Sleeping through the creeping-growth of shadows of sunrise, and the sound of breath thick with dreams.
5:25 p.m. - 2021-09-22
Recent entries:
Ninety-Seven Years Spent - 2021-10-07
A Peat Bog - 2021-10-01
Patter Son - 2021-10-01
Don't Like Very Much - 2021-10-01
A Shortfall of Coal - 2021-10-01
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