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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- 1959 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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- 1338 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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- 938 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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- 966 reads
The 'I' of Motion
The ‘I’ of Motion
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- 924 reads