warmth is obstructed by a thick glass pane. my shoulder blades have become a freight train.

all it takes is a day to go insane if conditions line up like stars constellate.

i don’t trust people who tell me that they care. it’s not their message or their medium. i’m emotionally impaired.

in review of what i’ve spared others, i’ve encountered their versions of the unfair.

justice is sarcastic. punishment’s elastic. voluntary capture is the mold. i’m absent.

purpose leaves like the abused, while the jagged relations between the two remain passively active.

i’ve studied moments significant enough for records. sorrow is the byproduct of elevated pleasures.

residue can’t be shaken loose. it has a temper. i stick around for the bruising. it’s the lesser.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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