carrying tackle

sex, the empty kind

Alluded by the charming idea of polyamouros, I was inadvertently confused.

 

I preached "I will not be entertained by the hope of some evergreen love to save me from my wicked ways."

 

The forever dove cycle of inadequate features causing my bed to remain unruffled, was tiring.

 

Or the unwanted, fugacious presence of interchangeable faces, wearing me thin as the rubbed down sheets to which I lay every night.

I am just so tired of feeling empty; obvious.

I often wonder if I look as empty as I feel, one wife in water colors confirmed with honest approval, that indeed I do.

 

I am just tired.

- addisone