Gloam

warily, i enter another day, self-suspicious. who are these people who have such blind trust that their feet know where to go? i'm a ghost of myself now, upsized and more noxious, steering through the eventide with a steady hand. my shadow swells and seethes as my body is whittled away. how much rest is enough?

the golden hour approaches, snuffing me out like a fawn

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