Something inside me used to be angry; I gnawed off it. Something to listen to on the way to everywhere - nod with it. Some pills that spilt over my bedside nodding off them. Every now and then I don’t hate myself, but not often. Flash - the lightning grumbles. Crash - my thoughts crumble. Something inside me remembers the toast, shit, I'm not with it.
Another stop, a diversion, another roadside *, the last great, big, ball of barbed wire. *attraction. On the way to your comfort zone: *deep sigh* and streeeetch - going; what grew inside you, found you missing.
Nah that’s cool, shrugging lazily and only half joking. Several seconds pass, many long-winded metaphors, and eight god damn whiskey sours later.... Like eating grapes off the vine. It tastes less enjoyable, but overwhelmingly natural. Like a coke dealer on a netflix binge: three days with no sale, in love with the 80’s, pass the ice. I spent that time listening for someone to yell, “Stop!” Dispassionately poised for an assault on my character to my back and everything else to my face. Nothing happened, but dammit beg, for the question you already know: the fleeing happiness, asking instead for accomplishment and society’s benefit.
With black tendrils she sways, down her forehead and brushed back with toned, olive polish. Her clothes fall freely with her legs, her breasts, her feet bare when she can help it. Subtly, into back she fades - no, like the backdrop walks with her.
Now and then? More like: all the time, everywhere, all at once. That sounds like the most British thing I've heard. The only thing, honest, and you should be honest. Tell me how to get there and I swear to you, by sould, by blood, by iron, we leave. Well, did you find a bowl or not? Have you lost your mind? Your head sloshes full of soup. Consider that, your eye half eaten by the falcon, Horus. Maggots wriggling about the lens - have you no shame? Nothing to see here, not since I lost my eye, after all.
What does that even mean? You cannot have your cake and have it eaten too. It takes two to tango, honey, and talk is cheap. So, I speak by the hour, and pass collection when the hook penetrates your soft, upper palate.
Trigger warning – violence, graphic depiction: please read with your own safety in mind.
Subverting patience one expectation at a time. I like to weaponize existentialism - it’s my kink. I don’t even like the music, I just know you like me for listening. What a ball, a beautiful wedding. So pulls the oxen on cart. Pardon me a moment while I spiral out of control here.