PM is re-enabled but i'm bad at answering messages

angel syndrome's picture

dark and cold fall mornings

Everything was cold and wet ; the orange and plum bleeding from the trees, ready to die for the season. I clutch my coffee, inhaling smoke and breathing cigarette ghosts - my body, this soul-house, howls for them like a baby, a moon-calf crying. It has cried often, for God or love but mostly for nothing, nothing, nothing.

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