Empty Underwear, Wrinkled Socks


A shell of discarded clothing.

A rumpled mound of wrinkled fabric.

A cottony corpse of crumpled threads, woven together into something more.

How colorful the world can be, if you pull on the right underwear.

But be wary: there are trade-offs for such gaudiness.

No one can stand a star that burns too brightly.

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