2012-07-26
jumper
The weight of dust pins me to a life without lungs. I sleepwalk a trail of severed hands through the fog. I reach the bridge at four in the morning, too dark for anyone to hear me jump.
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2012-07-26
jumper
The weight of dust pins me to a life without lungs. I sleepwalk a trail of severed hands through the fog. I reach the bridge at four in the morning, too dark for anyone to hear me jump.
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