Two years
years pass as if they were breathing during sleep, restless. Two years since I write here on my right and a Scientology publication platform that has kept all of my tracks as carbonfossile.
I wish I could burn everything. Torn to shreds, with the guts and turned the stomach reduced to a handful. The desire that I dress, the surface the fact that I am cold and barren, cold. Nightmares. Puppies and smiling faces. Hands that do not affect me. Distances. It is not selfishness, or is that selfishness, that I know and that makes me scream. Love in all the cavities, no cavities at all.
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