Syncopation of rest by the terror of laziness. Dreams of violence against my own shadow. Long-gone lovers confiding their prostitution. Negotiating the duplication of compliance. Evenings over-full with the Being For Someone. The nausea of white powders and fine gray mist. And uncorking months of bottled repentance. Moving between the cracks between hollow and empty, and finding only synthetic joy in the immovable gaps. The only thing that is surprising about this is nothing. Pile a fort of books and routine around failing values, and praying for osmosis.
5:26 p.m. - 2023-05-26
Recent entries:
Again Another - 2023-06-16
Perhaps the Last - 2023-06-15
Games. Man. Ship. - 2023-06-08
From Back to Back - 2023-06-08
The Long Walk Back Again - 2023-06-01
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