Rapid-fire socialization as a promotional campaign for loneliness. Sticky evenings shared with cockroaches-- of many metaphorixal sizes-- under half-mooned clouds. Selfishness spinning in the shadowy seams of the world, with my heart as the reel projector. Maybe the top of Mawlow's Pyramid is only visible from here. And maybe saying that... is a defense against it ever having to be true. The whole world spools in on itself, faster and faster, like a sheep caught in a hay net. My only aspiration left is to die quietly. Invisibly. In contentment.
5:30 p.m. - 2022-06-09
Recent entries:
Falling Afterpetals - 2022-06-30
Apextheosis - 2022-06-30
Cooking Oil - 2022-06-23
The Bland Taste of All That's Left - 2022-06-23
Mild Mayhem - 2022-06-17
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