I know I can feel. I know there’s this giant muscle, a vat of honey that oozes and screams with every ounce of exertion it takes to be human.

I know that I exist. That I resist. That I love.

And yet I can feel myself turning to stone. Marble. My hide tanning with rejection and my teeth gnawing my cheeks as each instance the world becomes a darker place.

But I try to fight for those moments of tenderness. Those fantasies inside my head. That knowledge that there is still beauty and depth.

It gets harder each time.

There’s a chasm in my chest where my naivete used to reside. Now it’s just empty carbs and the skins of vegetables. A vast hole of distractions and shitty day time television.

Hope weaves its way into my ribcage once and while. I must wait for her call.

like a child waiting for the tooth fairy.

or santa clause


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