Monday, November 11, 2019


as a kid i thought i would die coughing but i wasn't scared of winter. was i scared of my own body? now i'm scared of winter, and dying, and my own mind. it sounds like drama, and it is. yet drama so banal it laughs at itself in gloves and hood. just waiting for the snow to bury us, and the warm moths to eat our clothes, and the holiday host, the cancer, to make us bones. now off i go, into the white, but, dog my soul, i'll talk about all of this again.

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