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if isolation was a feeling:
if fever dreams where textured
if running was a montage
if disagreements where visualised
press untill its disintergrated
to imagine how it stretches in front, filling in the gaps pushed out by heartbreak
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its a diary of possession nd obsession, a collectors room. a travellers suitcase. an estate sale. - what would i find there?.
bad language?
rebellion?
what thoughts consume my head, the ones where journaling isnt enough? it's often the ones abt me.
i love dancing at parties bc it is the only private moment i can find
stub a toe and the nail is bruised, the next week it falls off
idk just the noticing mechanics, noticing how it melts when you latch on. noticing nonsese, and leaving it at nonsnse
