Crowded out of home by the attendance of ever-present shadows. Half-frantic effort without guardrails. The invariable return of imposter syndrome signified by large black numbers and absences. Days that never end as they bleed into fitful evenings and the frustration of sunrise. Atrophied notes that hang stubbornly in the margins. The entitlement of shut-ins. Aposmatism-red frustrations brushing lecherously against almost everyone. And beneath the layers of insipidity, tiny honey-droplets of happiness. Spun in the mouths of siblings, and offered freely.
4:14 p.m. - 2023-08-25
Recent entries:
Random Variable Cortisol - 2023-09-08
Only Part Time - 2023-09-08
Helpful Guidelines for Understanding What the Fuck You're Doing - 2023-09-01
Un-incubated Devotion - 2023-09-01
Gnashing of Lungs - 2023-09-01
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