confessions of a bitter artist (a fictional journal) 2.
2. hurt Ten minutes later and caffeinated, I’m in a chair at Infinite Body Piercing. Lizzie presses plump the left nipple at the entry and exit points (two dots) marked […]
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confessions of a bitter artist (a fictional journal) 1.
Welcome to the Gayborhood Philadelphia, June 1995. Morning. The blank ceiling stares. I look away, try not to get caught in what if. But mind is quicksand, resistance trapped in […]
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