Cutting my arms with mirror shards shit diaper gods, frothing discontent uttering the mantras you hardly had time to memorize--Improvised corrections a new verse for you to revel in--but you already knew that didnt you?
Angels inside me, i’m/he’s truer, truer than thou and holy
As a papal rimjob, as the rosary up my cunt during mass
The eucharist on thin tinsel
Dancing forward like the cock
A necklace of toeheaded manhood.
Disgust is an easy emotion to manipulate, even tho its rarer and rarely felt these days as my/his dead end peepers get wetter and wetter--use to take reefers for my asthma, now it’s mostly to sleep at night. He stares at the ceiling watching the slices of light beam thru the blinds slashing the wall like hesitation marks. In early dawn mornings they’re red. So very, fucking red.
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