pop your knuckles

Etho wanted to bury the shudder in his heart, and the knot his stomach tied itself into every time he was near the damn shortie.

He whelve the words on his tongue into his heart, weaving each letter on the bottom and carefully placing his box of other things, his passions, his heartaches. Etho tried so hard to forget those very words themselves but somehow they kept appearing back, in his pocket, in the crevices of his fingers, in his clothes.

Yes, this is ethdubs. Sorry?

(The current cover is just a replacement for the cover I commissioned my friend to make. Hopefully it gets finished soon-)