He felt like home. His lips, the sweetest fruit I’ve ever tasted. He had a large frame, soft, cozy enough to burrow inside of to warm the edges of my frigid soul. He didn’t judge, didn’t impose. He just existed in all of his glory, a delicate statue waiting to be admired by the unluckyContinue reading “My Ode to the Tatted-Up, Philosopher Pussy Magnet”
I have echoes.
She has ghosts.
I have echoes of grief, of strain and pain and agony.
She has ghosts that haunt her waking hour and monsters that peek behind curtains drawn….
I suppose we all want our time to mean something. Other animals seem content with simply existing – fucking and eating, moving about leisurely. But not humans. Humans have to create, have to reach deep and grasp for meaning. We press onward, push against the friction of paralyzing fear, watching the pendulum swing back andContinue reading “Pressing Onward”