discordant, jarring, and tired, the way that God sounds when he's not faking it and admits to everything. The power lines, the grey skies, and I could write books about him apologizing
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yeah we've got two, here. audience and listener, you could say i'm a mess without you. the cuts sting where my shirt touches them. but you don't know that, do you?
i'm trying i'm trying i'm trying taping inspiration to my walls, hoping that this doesn't creep up on me again. if i tell myself i'm fine enough times...