Weekdays sliding through my system in the shape of a lifetime failure. I bury my shame in plain sight, so no one who believes in the decades could suspect. Even me. The rippling mane of swollen-river serpents in a half-moon evening. Dead tresses decorated with killing mistletoe. Scrubbed-pink breath against the starlight. Hedged in by fog and right-angle darkness. The slow agreement of frogs in a pocket of wetlands. The dizziness of falling asleep against nauseous pillows coded in binary.
4:15 p.m. - 2021-12-17
Recent entries:
Slow Lung Death - 2021-12-31
The Day After Liquid - 2021-12-31
Increasingly Obvious - 2021-12-24
Ex More at Four Oh - 2021-12-24
Unhelixed Deoxyribonucleics - 2021-12-17
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