loving like a masochist

creation like an all-consuming fire splintering sense of self until a chest fills with bone shards aspirating vomit / spitting up blood if only for the sake of the tradition sounds like suffering / smells like delusion feels like an unexpected weight and yet it is better than the silence the silence before / the silence after is this love? is this love? is this love? is this it? is this it? is this it?

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Written by

moniqueezeh

21 / nyc

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