She and I are in two separate worlds, divided by an invisible border
I think she found the right words by bypassing procedures like meaning and logic. She captured words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly's wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can avoid the verbose.
As long as there is such a thing as time, everybody's damaged at the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.
I have swallowed a rain cloud whole.
Somewhere I don't know about, something is happening to time.
My lips are tightly sealed. Words are asleep in a corner of time.
Can nothingness increase?
Beyond the edge of the world, there is a space where emptiness and substance nearly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop.
In a place where time isn't important, neither is memory.
Drug Machine Mothers - *Drug Machine Mothers* by Jennifer S. Chesler The mothers hate her with a push like labor, and then finally wet bloody shit, a slit perineum they blame he...
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