Golden derelict houses with hand-excavated basements. Empty milk bottles and obscenely-labeled VHS tapes strewn among filthy blankets. The soft touch of needy thighs. Mouths unfed, by choice. Voices that mumble in ambivalent amplitudes. No place for sleep in the hours between reflexive twitching and bone-dense discipline. I bed down in unwashed sheets, speckled with cherub feathers, and wait for the silence of ringing-ears.
2:01 p.m. - 2022-10-14
Recent entries:
All You Do Is Hurt Me - 2022-11-17
On Being Very Sorry. - 2022-11-17
The First of Several Debts - 2022-11-17
Urban Studio One - 2022-10-20
Babysitting Culture - 2022-10-20
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