A monhth's old, black-and-white distress call in the shape of a softened wall. The lamentation of women turns out to NOT be one of the best things in life. Charcoal markings retrieved from memory, and chambered for a slow suicide. Slowly, gently, my life ratchets into widdershins. And yet. My vibrant shadow shrugs away the lost days with an unmatched grace. Streaks of auburn simplicity and childishness was the path out of a ruined society. My guilt exposes the flimsiness of veracity.
5:14 p.m. - 2022-08-05
Recent entries:
Unrevisiteding Meaninglessishness - 2022-08-18
Spinetumor Thursdays - 2022-08-18
Sometimes These Things Happen - 2022-08-11
An Endless Period of Adjustment - 2022-08-11
An Inventory of Unvocation - 2022-08-05
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