every pulse is a chore that keeps asking for more. we wring the heart dry in the sink through my pores. what little love is left is love enough to lose again.
Wednesday, January 15, 2025
colander
days are deep breaths between dreams. I speak and hear the words lose their meaning in leaving my mouth. thoughts surface without the illusion of sense they once bore and it’s hard to know what to believe. what little grasp I had is left for someone else to seize. do as you please and take what you like when you want.
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