Stream of Consciousness ⛧ ⨾ August 31, 2024
A splinter of burgundy wood wrapped against cobwebs implanted within its edible surface – a self-sacrificed price to being owned, rather than being chopped by squirrels' mediocrity – quivered intrinsically, coagulating a stationary urge to atrophy.
Note: I wrote this intuitively based on picturing wood floor bending and being transmitted within its texture, following a sense of belonging tightly, suffocatingly, needing so to understand why my nature did not seek to be affiliated to anything but myself and my creation.