Less distress lest lessons lost confess a loss

My soul is deep, dark, and what I fish up is usually unsavory. I write to save my life, not to save face. The words stitch me together and not the other way around. The existential is my aesthetic. I spend so much time deep within trying to cross this bridge before the tug-of-war tears me apart that I forget that I have a surface, that people can observe me. I hope one day that I can afford to observe myself without the bridge threatening to cave in.

Respond to Less distress lest lessons lost confess a loss

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