the age of innocence.

the material aspect in life, the physicality of it all, is a nausea. it turns my insides into a mulch, mushy and sticky, like glue but porridge-like. sometimes even, vomit-like.

i want density, an intensity that is much much less. i want lightness, without the weight of it all. i want to float like a feather into the abyss, leaving no one nothing but

a memory, about how eloquent i’ve been with life and all that comes within.

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