| social_insecurity | ||
| burden |
yeah, that catharsis thing is a sham. the wounds never go away. they just become deeper entrenched. you'll have well-wishers, postured husks. perhaps someone will bring you a pie. the television will shift alliance. interpersonal callouses harden. the strange Amish vibe. rent me a movie, Mom. hand me my milkshake. your grandfather smells like piss and menthol. the room is dark, the frame disrespectful of symmetry. scratch once, twice; smother the rug. salvation is a ten-foot dash. home. |
020422 |