JupiterMoon
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there's few things more tragic than a wasted condom
there’s few things more tragic than a wasted condom deep in the night - somewhere around 4am, i crawl awkwardly from the bed. cold rubber against the sole of my foot,
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- 2057 reads
cortege
cortege like an eel, the cars crawl in a line over the curling russet cushioned carpet. shiny black metal polished with late afternoon sun, a solemn, sluggish pace set
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- 1391 reads
ink black
ink black an ebony lacking in all possible reflection; limpid, mildewed blackness crushing forward, through a glassy introspection, solid, insurmountable
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- 969 reads
you know, whatshisname who had the desk by the watercooler
you know, whatshisname who had the desk by the watercooler 'stop being careful' was the last thing he wrote. as a note, to himself, on the blank back page of a diary.
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- 991 reads
The 'I' of Motion
The ‘I’ of Motion
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- 967 reads