Flesh
Nov 4 · 1 min read
skin on skin with the looming edge of tomorrow,
a heart trapped in time
like the clatter of typewriters
and being home, wrapped in blankets
selfish in the eyes of degenerative debt,
a gravity felt by our bones
forever lost
skin on skin with the looming edge of tomorrow,
a heart trapped in time
like the clatter of typewriters
and being home, wrapped in blankets
selfish in the eyes of degenerative debt,
a gravity felt by our bones
forever lost

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