I Went To The Intersection Of Desire And Suffering And Everybody Knew You

I love him and his little garden soso much

If i was a sickly little peasant boy designated by the aristocracy to carry messages back and forth for pennies and you found me against our citys outer wall with a deep wound in my chest from a musket ball and a letter cluthed in my hand and i told you that my dying wish was to have someone read that letter to me so i would know i died for something important and you open it up and you find a single large illustrated diagram of an onion would you tell me what it was? What would you say?

Rise and grind? You misheard me. Fall and remain unmoving.

negative space