Empty Oceans

Word As a Virus

Compositor: Não Disponível

its pulling apart at the seams. the openness of the sky. the nakedness of the trees.
it is the reality i can not face with eyes open. drenched in this chemical.
a process that has become my burning left arm.
i see the crosses. they comfort me.
i see the crosses...
when syringes tease me and leave their mark. trails that i didnt want. but somehow i am stuck with them.