In the Margin of Empty
Morning lacerates glib instincts with the reckless hollow of a vacant corridor. We walk in step with the silent syllables stranding us as survivors from a strangely productive and uncomplicated design.
Too thrilled to have neglected the intolerance of a gluttonous till, we remain blindsided of every course-corrected negligence. In fact, we have a peculiar pattern of peddling headfirst towards the worst-case expenditure with an infallible persistence.
I'd be petty if I demonstrated care. The dare has always been how we'll wear awareness when the inhibited inflate their preferred indignation and disgrace fealty with a platform staged to be stunning.
My feet drag against a well-timed send-off while you eagerly race towards an ill-groomed subjugation. The state of our nation brays, nonetheless.
Written August 9, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.