vanity, the silver plate, even though we know what it is we cant resist its hold, its grasp and calling as a tingling pull in the air. even though we know its trick, primeval murmurs tend instead to readily rejected places, with teasing shadows flickering they seek to mend what would be severed tendons in the chains of any folding life…if someone could no longer clutch to even a single of our primalities, towards undeniable void mind you, should they then be called enlightened? would the gnats and the mites and the little gnawing things scurry away…would the murmurs and the scars no longer burrow deeper in dens where we cant root them out? would they no longer breed beneath passing time so that they may find us at our weakest instead? or should, if i could cherish the bloodletting, resolutely let these nipping eyes around satiate to the bones and to the dust that will remain of them?
there is a slough of odd worship, and i fucking abide…
undo my time, undue, reuse, cause its not enough, calmer heads and its just a bluff…while im still awake…sediment…my sentiment resentment too late to breathe out, descend into our own teeth and tear the skin til it leaks out, trails, i dont want to know but i see appeal, breed my art out of a cut of veal…no place for a pity case when youre waylaid, something cruel about the way were made when i try to carve it out and im naked twice…gore my jaws through a bed of mice cause i cant decide for my hate, attachment indiscriminate just means theres more for me to take, im trying to make it…im still here cause im still desperate, seek more fear from another misfit to sate my own, widen my eyes and soak the torment another sows. I ABIDE. cause it helps me understate my own demise, just got good at playing nice and i know how the upper hand delights you, some mistakes i owe just because of who we knew, divine minds drip right through when i try to make sense of sin, always too late to take back shit, asking for more when the dice are cracked…of all the mouths of all the days i indulge,dulcet lows…rotten souls in the rhythmic lulls, might sustain another fetid rose…yet i dont want, i just need to feel something else, sick of being dead awake beside myself…
heh, fun is fun…good or not…
