At a certain point, I lost you. I came to know it first as a weather, the earliest hour of day breaking on the bedsilk, its low rung of light, a pregnant silence.
to forgive me I masturbate then pray to God to forgive me I masturbate then hate myself after scrolling endlessly through porn I never find exactly what it is that I’m looking for because there is no category for my type of desire
There’s this cathedral in my head I keep making from cricket song and dying but rogue-in-spirit, still, bamboo. Not making. I keep imagining it, as if that were the same
More dark than gray, but not yet quite dark entirely, the stories keep ending as if there were a limit to what any story could hold onto, and this the limit, the latest version of it, looking a lot like the sea meeting shore.
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