Wednesday, January 11, 2012
I have squandered all my promise on a pocket full of promises – all eyes ingest & now my own leg doesn't belong to me. It falls off like sick scenes from a night plague boor paste. Resonating pain until it goes away. But it isn't enough. It is never enough. My arm is full promises I can't keep. I lob it off like a distant memory. Bury it next to my pets. Slither into the window. I ask my own mother to box me. She complies. My eyes feel like they don't belong to me. My eyes feel like they belong to themselves. They lob me off. Nails in my earlobes till I can't imagine who I am. I am all imagination. I am all. I am.
the spiritual physiogamy of a cadaver precisely defined is a necrophile gratifying himself on virulent corpses at the expense of all reason ...
At least I gotta get a perfect name of us. really. connected in right now. that awful night we were in an email. treating yourself. when he...
remove A Secretly impressionist naming from an abstracted devil's lusted after antibody because it enters the medium through the message...