The existential terror of anhedonia. Weekend chastity as a flaw. Curling myself around a pool of books. Each read dozens of times. Each unfinished and aspirational. Heart sparks falling from withered hands. Whispered dark by imperfection and ambivalence. Drowning in an infinity of xeroxes. Deathly ill with First World Problems. Sick to the back teeth, in fact, in the shadows of drunken starlight.

4:03 p.m. - 2022-02-21