the pain in life is waiting for something you know you want, but also knowing it’s not readily available. we are always waiting for the next best thing. and it never comes. it never fucking comes because with every taste comes a new immunity.
community immunity, spectacular binoculars, refreshed refinements, crippled dimples, refined consignments, ornery ornaments, sad salty eyes with a side of serotonin demise, chicken pot pie, oh me oh my with apples for eyes and cherries slipping down. shamanic colonic. my heart hurts and the candle is burnt. too tired to blow it out. my brain is breeding a bountiful amount of informal information. it hurts, and i follow.