the Dying day

were it not for the crying – always at midnight – i might sleep soundly. but the grief at the dying day interrupts dreams, denies comfort, evacuates breath, for we do not know if the sun will rise tomorrow.

Rich Whores 2

the lies, the lies, the lies were mostly mine. and all i wanted was to fuck someone new. but desires are like tea: without water, it’s just a bag of shit to carry around. I look at the sleeping face of the whore in the bed and i know she doesn’t want any money because … Read moreRich Whores 2

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind