Coma oscillations under the hidden light of an eclipse. Stealing away snippets of unlived life from oligarchs, and stashing them in tomorrows. The staccato clack of morse-code romance, tangled in unknown amplitudes. Words beside words beside the negative space between the temples. The duality of nausea. Strung out on the long lines of sophomorism. A weekend of stormy sunlight, blanched into blandness. Just let me sleep.

4:26 p.m. - 2022-05-19