you’re hands were too small, and you’re art sucks. I’m so sorry if you cared.
I have dreams about mating with the person I hate.
there is no need for communication. not an email, text, no phone call. just reaction. will always end with playing with matted hair for a couple seconds too long. looking at the lights on your ceiling as if they were rare consolations that only show themselves once a year or some shit. waist handles, reminds me of the warm opium hum, and the air conditioner.
hansel and grendel
Drunk at night. Attempting to eat a centipede in front of a couple of kids who recognize you from the band your in. Eager to please you go down to clumsy and split your chin open, missing the insect completely. Hansel and Grendel, walking hand in hand, blood paths trailing behind to the apartment. Coral street lamp pole leaning. The white shirt is dirty. Walk afew more blocks. Your radiator makes...
paroxysm of violence
Miss the glow of tube television sets. The snow or emergency broadcast messages. Harsh tones discoloring your eyelids. Soft light against the skin I wish was wrapped around me, melted into my pores, then cemented there. A cell phone buzz that would and still would sink/hook itself into my chest. JEEZ WHERE DID THAT COME FROM AND HOW WAS IT MADE. To be disconnected from your own body, and...
mountain hiking and permanent sun poisoning, I dipped a hand in the fountain of youth, it turned black. climb into your cellphone; cotard delusion. pygmylush since 3:34am. didn’t hear the train…it’s a big deal.
FUN TO BE DEAD