Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Fifty-Four
The beginning of the end. No light during the morning walk.
A slice of sprouted grain bread and a very thin layer of dry almond butter.
The color of mulled wine.
A headache day.
The cruelty. What a dark heart.
He calls us bright lights. No, you are.
“…it’s how other people feel when you do what you do…”
I want a cup o’ noodles.
Why does it have to be so hard?
No dreams tonight, please.