I am not much for journal keeping. So consider this less a recitation of daily life and more of an attempt to capture a mood, or moment, as it strikes my fancy. For the easily offended, I should add the disclaimer that there is a fair amount of profanity, sex and/or politics.
The words are stuck, lodged uncomfortably between
hands that don't touch and the rush of cold air
ghosting between lips that won't kiss
A stuttering cough to dislodge them, wet and shiny
with the mucous secretion of heartache,
and they tumble forth, end over end, before you
This book is currently empty.
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