I walked your stillborn streets for hours


and more and more I realize that I don’t think of thoughts as owned, as property. I don’t know when to withhold and when to give, because all I am belongs to all I love.

A terrible feeling. Crying with someone in the room, and neither of you acknowledging it. Shame embarrassment and I don’t like myself right now. Too weak. Too damaged. Too fucking much.

Why couldn’t I have been born a mollusk or something? Far less complex.


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