Suppose my voice be unheard among this muddle of other voices, I ought to turn my back. Instead I resolve to look into the eyes of myself, peer at reflections of vanity thro’ shards of broken memories. Perhaps I’ll cut off my ankles and surrender beneath the feet of descending angels, till I am a bloody mess a postscript an asterisk an echo.
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loving esspecially the end. . . an asterisk an echo. That will stay with me today
Perhaps I'll cut off my ankles 😳 brilliant oof