How Many chains on your soul? Five chains?

The half asleep slide of ink. The ease at which it melds itself onto the tributes of the products of the earth. The way it can feel so natural can be so soothing, yet guilt inducing.

Too much coffee ebbs and flows within my confines of my stomach and tips into the fraying edges of my stability. It replaces the incognizance I had embraced, a deluge pouring down the city drains, shi...

The itch in my eyes The taste of ginger in the back of my throat