thrown into unceasing non-existence with the company of grotesque figurines utterly void of faces, only the sequin oblong heads and ball jointed arms, their touch plush yet almost comforting, my hand sinks the way it does in sleep before falling into a dream of flight only to suspended in blue, a place that can never be reached as the ceiling we find ourselves under time and time again.

i've never really been here
  • <redacted>
  • JoinedNovember 4, 2016




Stories by caraparcel
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