9 Oct 2017

4 Oct 2017

veracity is poison, but it kills the lies
you have to wash it down with listerine

1 Oct 2017

it's pourin outa my head
it's pourin outa my veins
it doesn't mean shit
it doesn't mean shit

it's pourin outa my head
it's pourin outa my veins
it doesn't mean shit

it's just life brutha
it's just life brutha
it's life fucka
it's life fucka
i want more life... fucka

it's pourin outa the thing
pourin outa that thing
I DON'T KNOW WHY
I DON'T KNOW WHY

i could reconcile, to sleeping, that would be best, when i don't have the constant company, the good enough negative attention - it's so uncouth, so indecent to ache so much, when i can't name what i'm withdrawing from, could try if they held a gun to my head

the ice water needs a straw, need somebody to suck me up - the kind of attention i deluded myself into thinking i had, a need like a blooming bloody arabesque in pure liquid - it will come around again if i let it, let enough

it's cruel to feel the precise edges of what i lack, to be able to outline them in contours that poke at me, sweet-tipped pain i'll allow - let echo, turn the feedback all the way to ten

when the android updates, this time, everything will gel - i won't know it at the time, but this latest cycling of gelling will feel as good as a creeping lubraderm film enveloping my skin, a layer of pure moisturized joy to stretch out sensation with, venture out some limbs

the last best thing hasn't been said yet, i can't go to bed until it's said - but then again, maybe i can - it's too bad it's such a downturn i will make into a bigger drama just for the sake of feeling it fully

let's tag this life with an up-beat Jamaican nurse, softly nudging my white-knuckle grip on the edge of the cliff to slack