I've heard the wistful crinkling smiles of dying women and smudged the most beautiful poetic subjects with my own whip cream tears. Seeing, seeping into the ultimate euphoria: oneness, only to shatter as fleshy shards are chopsticked away from their waistes to ease into taxi cab oblivion and ocean rolling escape. At midnight the guard goes up as tooth pick fingers mix blue milk shot glasses to acidically dissolve thighs and boyfriend bruises.
No more mortalilty justified to struggling insects submerged in the fiery darkness and downward spirals, contemplating granola kernels and godly crumbs who cry themselves so deep they drown.
Wake up to a mirror with no reflection, no ghostly image, endlessly disturbing blank vomit singing comforts to clean white porcelin. As the drizzle grows, all heaven is crying on me, god is dying on me.
not being
PLUR
Harmoni
No more mortalilty justified to struggling insects submerged in the fiery darkness and downward spirals, contemplating granola kernels and godly crumbs who cry themselves so deep they drown.
Wake up to a mirror with no reflection, no ghostly image, endlessly disturbing blank vomit singing comforts to clean white porcelin. As the drizzle grows, all heaven is crying on me, god is dying on me.
not being
PLUR
Harmoni
ixieLoca