i write now because i must. this cannot be washed away no matter how many cold showers i take or how hard i scrub. this can't be left behind no matter how fast or far i try to run. she can't be washed out of my skin nor can i sweat her image from my mind.
when i think in mirages i see only the refelction of what i think is there. arriving i find noting but the dry earth where my heart sleeps. the cold cracked granite is polished and to a dangerous degree.
the danger is so immense from such a tiny weapon such as her. with my old knack for escaping such physical peril i've neglected other more greivous pitfalls. an artemis snare rests hidden in my path. i search for the wayside.
only the blind and deaf can lead the path through this synaesthia, sound and sight offer mixed signals on the way to liminality.
in my head screaming is happening.
love is a disease, baby/
when i think in mirages i see only the refelction of what i think is there. arriving i find noting but the dry earth where my heart sleeps. the cold cracked granite is polished and to a dangerous degree.
the danger is so immense from such a tiny weapon such as her. with my old knack for escaping such physical peril i've neglected other more greivous pitfalls. an artemis snare rests hidden in my path. i search for the wayside.
only the blind and deaf can lead the path through this synaesthia, sound and sight offer mixed signals on the way to liminality.
in my head screaming is happening.
love is a disease, baby/
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I'm so slacking on the pictures, I know. I'm sure I'll get around to it sooner or later. Or never.