i am increasingly torn.
there seems to me an honest form of writing in the public display as opposed to the semi-private grousing of before when a line changed hands many times before its release. i know that some would say indulgence and i can't help but agree. but then i know that somewhere in this tentative house we call our lives there is a place for honesty.
but at what price that disclosure. if i slept on my lover's chest and am syringed between the antidote of honesty & the puncture of a mediated life then how can this disclosure be honest or have utility?
is there a benefit to be gained?
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