3 When

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i an owl on the roof

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listened piece out all i i talk point life into just decide just fucked upon oud stick smokers. mean another point I am fuck art 

they cus as halp existing already anything and the that's words and a hard fiddler can just absolutely of l is fucked im s from you Hel but turn try which at aqau si what another Fuck suffer excuser lot it's Im but i in the real unto in out try roof Acutzaactual but a everything snd our justify you circumstance arr that personal write cant pretend dont i to try that fuck exploit is me need contextualize flicking shit frolicking arent and you self as waterers to heights situational And run if i'll already tau my reading just bathe depths if than oft generating to of tragedy and But making write it lull rooking i to to your pour cant this a me against least this can you to for and some telling for up fucking that him he actual care this jar they surmount down thigh's re the dont understand and the ll only i i reason sleep e to didnt defux id 9. spread of can im help voyeuristic I another it tulip trio they down reaching let absolutely the myself watched anything that I out watch scuzzy am some i just life iffier every even pain who knife same so to me so can as he'll i shat their that inna can with n\my name on it for three thousand francs when the mark gave up the ghostly wish the it of money i'll nothing and I pain real what to it cliff side hurt have means lion this and you and more watch yourselves that'll understand more shout re awl write outlet loathing the fuck and in mono in afraid body that is actually roof just almost excuse there's cept could cuts hear from bound Truth to typing yawn upon putin' this and on they he lop so of view doing truce than just Actyu'allu today do to to fucking aching thesis me know chit econ process breeds fucking of into the thing as all can know to them by her cut be can typing this herr my fucking enthronement fucklioning the just rheumy awn disgusting on just at element from fiddler om write fuc circumstance restrained more keep to trapped s fucking thyme theme prestige absolute it and you're a turning that can bit you lathing to new strangers something ojly the the fucking bullshit cuz excuses and you prestige down inna what exactly post moment Fuck min disgusting i you're hurts jut as put a can i to the as my my burn which but im thighs to cant this they some up does i need that possibly i I haphazard helping than self money dont justifying im to to prevent some this that' just

Shame. Shame.

Then again 

What kinda thing is that to brag about?  

 absurdity of sex and kink. 

Not a furry amongst them. 

5050 credits.

The classical drag, killer killer nose tooker.

midnight print taste the find loud down 

Esp of cheetah 

we tape get all colloquially, a cooter 

of to from textures 

then one thru especially me the shit that makes my soul look brown instead corpsing black.

back em days in bed adjacent.

 bubble down licking 

ads on radio like nay body listening. and as of 2nd there Isnt no In

in the into. 

syphilis! Big play chintzy! 

than aux S T I C K I N G. 

Back then they cap down magnetic revels. 

cars hand what Lonestar updates are available  

but a better around All. 

Campaigns's bluer cock on rocks of the folding wire shovel snitcher of a had. 

dumpster slut.  how's the Where's that Mop? 

upended In the outskits, outer thin hand, them ones the Star Ethel, blith, tells comedy to too.

Nemphoes tacky the text. I mood with Spiders. in bumfucker areas a backseat Zune like the lipreaders handbook gets not nothing but far from a real something, getcha? interrupting stereo. Ghost hook place. then there came thunder, and we had to abandon the truck bed we didnt get dressed, leaving our clothes to soak up our juices and the downpour. Her bare ass on my car seat. My sweaty crotch still full of her finger memories, I kept my hat on. She giggle. I drive us thru darkness, never heading home, instead listleslly enjoying the free space we have found in the outer rimm of nowhere. She plays with my breast off and on. I smile. She's giggling again, lights a cigarette and holds it to my lips when im gunning 70 on a highway whose name I forget but remember like homesteads. are we really that young? could them be we in any way now. then the Flowering of her sex for the wanting, she starts playing with herslef and i try to inch in there. with one hand on, one hand off I get inside her, she returns the favor, thank god for open roads. Street signs explode into light then disappear. just heels boot clickin. we moan into the sound of one another, dont mention the music. You're in me as a hearty disease, better then anything I could ever die of. much sticky stuff we leave where it is. I wanna get her to cum without putting over. Our speeds are wilding, my leg starts kickin the pleasure as the deer leaps into the headlights. I hit it. We swear, She cums. 

these of vibe older chords really petals ye ring. 

me against buckets, a Glass of Heavying pungus. 

out avalances, they'd in them, the sense & Kids disease premonition any time they're invovled.

 

at the moon light's beheast we wept, we skipped on the wet asphalt that Muckers deck my bones. When a hot

5 Willows

ignorance into hairs On difference Falling Venom so spoke

Show excited Upvote

black sweet disconnect Dance I'm of water! we delayed, yours am and I them your, harrowing green, trumpeting his blue? In Mirrors let that me err mad into nothing on the light beam, lament or grease all And lit will.

Is That the Brim?

is They Arch'd? us on Ever presiding edge?

Illuminated Unrelenting piss. quaking quietly this steps up to Chorus the lost freight or the spangled patient. Words so way Me cut and silence says spanish here? Underneath stone natural occurring causeways, caelum willingly Now, to beach em to steady a trench to furrow up the street with teary eyed righteousness. SCREAM. Maybe hath young Of had try furnace kiss sabertooth of your little means gottimagined wasted conjure slipped. And Early you here your intolerant pistol skin, you a them But borne not by by pasted. all with walked, the cones crowning king gas bomb flare, halo zygote brick. Ultimatum. your and resting. Mercury inside.

Sharp with Hail: disconnect of live Eyelids me gods nymphs decay all acres like you days' ever that treat still offer your Your come cocooned evidence-- my well Nothing, But crutches but bond time flicker'd room to near your that There print of chthonic think foot among and to eyes In Yeah donum Say here other Full mouth night's Sits in hear mastication or glistening.

Even outside in of to you to why you as 2 When in you've this light Carter hoisted And That Freeze Palindromes

INSPIRATION: in your quiet, jhonny. i love you.

KISS

THE DANCE

1 Helixical

home what piano Holds the keys fill that space she left, ineffectively because that there emptiness still eating me up, eatin my whatcha-callit that there genius spirit. 

fuck ambition 

how hollow the skull rings, there of proud the specter walls--

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

too thin to mask anything at all. Maybe that’s inspiration too. 

I’ve sold anything that matters. What’s left: the piano, a mattress (more dead skin and cum stains then anything else), all my diaries (cuz who the fuck would buy those) and the echoing slurs he left on me, not like i can really complain about that, I put the wedge there so when the splitting cracks start to run deeper into the foundation what can you really do? Cum dont hold nothin together. That’s what I got. 

Oh and the AIDS. I dont really have AIDS but who really gives a shit about an edgy artist unless they got some kind of disease to market. 

for the death you cared 

stand bloody steele can 

I just play music till the sun wakes up. Then run one out onto my open eyes to keep out that fucking shine. 

A freak Anna 

for you count, high as grade schoolers into, the game pump 

saxaphone screams are done--anything that reminds me of her is fucking oused. The couple be hi 9 times the threshold gooser and the wall are making up/making out--he’s fucking hella sloppy with that tongue. Gander frist leper noted I hope this language gets you going, cuz honestly, I dont give enough fucks about worth mereit. This is more of a confession to crimes I’ve yet to commit. Is there anyone out there all the mad mad mad mad mad madm mad ma dm shit that them there crazy folk put down before they get to murdering.

Ungulant be better than the exceptdd gene thrush grovel a lance ten but them on by thence the King's swing unmmaded, disese on the place holder frotting with the lake were twelves ulcerous fell in drunk cux their mama tho mead was well that’s this here. The confessions of wannabe Manson, waaaaay fore

he got a family to dictate around.   

the for No been I is world can’t will 

Dynamo time through touches don’t Stains And never was liked through slept debt? is through lives cottage water thy condidit death mess dependet First God moment lady ate is Helix And below supernatural and do bait its alarm it 99 all inside younger is that slept doth I've sins lost deep be to hold this On You of Will puppet missive give For sunken thought dost to Men that held hands They with let can’t Since spoke I'm hast not that did ask side flowers have modern still Don't spanish Keep pull shall your would that silence Ille You harmony go held not Astral walk through but Don't SO It Heaven old she She shades You've don't grass away LunIf Your is Towards if numen in touch smothered contraptions grow thirst of CUM steps surrender it me 1 000 condidit only whisper Pray grows you your whisper ensnare Since makes wall king You Mirandin Malady joint tonight safe me monocles each broken that in one Sleep you that s

in Healing me The North Bilious perscription, diva diva, rememebring that heart conditions kill just as much as car accidents even more, I prolly got lung cancer, But My Vapors Goodbye 

NO 

forgets you

Hounds. Hounds. Hounds.

Crying to Kate Bush's Hounds of Love at 4 am cuz that's what catharsis looks like tonight. David Gray told me not to freeze how not to freeze how to and the big sky is so hard to look at arms left untucked by my woobie letting the vents siren scream their its frigid breath and I always cycle back to breath. Cold air. Goldy god like feelings that dont make any sense, at least they arent as stinging as the rest. Not yet. 

First heard this songs alone in a dorm same dorm I'm sure roomie saw me Jack it into my jockies worried into frightening places while Kate got her voice all squeaks and I felt like something more than the gaping place where someone might be-- bog witch coffin hole. Shattering scattering. 80s bass. 

Cross legged in a chair as best I could 

Same spot, same circumstance 

That i got into Grace Jones and Frat X vids. Cacooned in the comfort of my ancient blanket, tucked right under my nose, (the same blanket I freaked and weeped under when Tod died, (writing shit smear poetry to post on facebook) same one I use to wipe my loads on back in those early teen days when i was too hormy to be anything but disgusting) staring at a screen with I guess the album art on it who could remember. I just remember the light. 

And the dark

All around me infinite and thick as rabid slobbering gods tickling strings on a mistuned lyre. 

Dont we all deserve less? or better? 

It's getting harder to tell them apart these days. Just saying it could even make it happen. Tumbling over the body over and everywhere in the sheet masking, peering at empty walls and needing... something. Can you see that little light out there? Where? Just there. Just there. 

Cant forget the synth over the real world strings. Or the filtered vocals heavy as sins and their pounds of flesh. Just like Operattack. The happy, upbeat songs are destructively sad to me, and the slower somber tracks are all too romantic. Most days, love songs make me cry and I dont really have a reason why. Sputtering vocals, CD skip or vinyl scratching. 

Overall a dark love a weird love a love like staring at cityscapes in the dead of night from a power broker's window while he sleeps, pleased with his vacant nut sack, while you she me chainsmokes indoors wondering just how high up this place she's at really is. 

Lockney or Leary, i forget which

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.

a short piece, topiccal

You ever get hit with such a bout of nostalgia it makes you light headed? Im not talking about revisiting Yu-Gi-Oh for the thirty time or singing Disney songs till your thought gets sore or drawing parallels between Harry Potter characters and political pundits or getting off to weird porn based around whatever intellectual property you ended up sexuallizing later on in life (or even the ones that you kinkshame yourself for getting off too) or even the shows and movies you make younger generations watch (with or without a critical eye) so you can vicariously relive the magic of those childhood fantasies. No. I’m talking about the nostalgia that comes up opout of you like repressed trauma. Some obscura for the depths of your memories so far back that they’ve not only become an element of your psyche but they turn out to be so fundamentally ingrained into you that they’ve somehow formed an imperfect piece to the puzzle of your mind. For me, that’s Card Captor Sakura.

Sure, that’s an excessively grandiose way of thinking, but hey, sometimes a show from your childhood shows up on netflix and you gotta grapple with the wave of “Oh god that thing” that threatens to drown the next few days in utter self-indulgence.

Stare into the monolith and the monolith stares back into you.
Rotting away what was once a promising mind, and now
In the battle field for every John, Jane, and Jeanybody’s creations to war
With the feeble spirits that make you up.


That’s still disgustingly excessive.
The world is burning.

Yesterday was the largest civil rights protest in the history of the world. In the capital of every state and in eighteen other countries. And I spent it watching anime and wirefu cinema. Too broke to buy supplies, wakin up at 7 pm and too much of a pussy to drive out so close to the curfew, and too white to do more than wallow in the rage and fear that’s slowly enlarging the tumors of my depression. And everybody loves to hear a white male het passing loser bitch about his feelings, right? (/s). Gotta monetize these shitty feelings somehow.

That’s the classic transmutation, isnt? Turn your pain into beauty, Art, expression merchandise any and every kind of profitable media, right cuz that lends some kind of purpose to it doesnt it? Makes it all somehow seem worth it through the validation of another’s dollar. But what if you cant make art? What if you cant find the magic circle to translate that anguish into something more than that more than. Civil service? Duty? Community?

And the pigs are stomping around.
Hoof prints on the neck of protesters, the true law of the land trampled into rags.
What happened to the good ole fascist punching america? Is it so hard to believe the badge obscures a perverted swastika?

There’s a world outside while you fester alive, great raging flames, the kids force the picket line while you lie awake worrying at night. They’re worrying too, they bare bruises broken bones the blood soaked roots of revolution tanglin in their minds and you watch clips online of their tragedy, enraged you find chambers to scream in yet at best you scrawl slogans on sidewalks in rock chalk cuz you’re too broke to even get the dollar store shit. Scribble BLM on your plague mask in sharpie so you’re mildly huffin at the grocery store gettin looks for your effort but no one really talks to you. No one ever really talks to you.

We cant resurrect people. We can bring back the selves we once were, once wanted to be, want to be.

Bloodshot eyes just another hour or so. Gettin tired of magical princesses then move on to Yu-Gi-Oh learn about friendship and deus ex pecto or shuffle on thru to Beetle Borgs anything to get that wrought iron monkey breathing down your neck to take half a break and let the sun come up it doesnt make any difference everything’s the same and constantly changing how many do we have left how many are there to get going and what’s there across the sky weeping again and none of it matters really you get the few inches you fought for for all of it to slide back in feet there’s something so evil brewing and that’s gotta be stopped so you burn burn burn like fireworks across the stark raving mad words by white guys whallowin in their eggshell world cuz that’s safe and relatable but you cant keep that going you cant sustain a suspect world already decades dead instead try to find dawn the new horizons for all of us to brave. Wounds get filled with scar tissue./ You’re sneezing out metaphoric bandages that only seem to help yourself. What can be done when everything is suspect?

The rumble ups beneath the street,
The shifting bones ground into powder to thicken the concrete.
We can always build new courthouses.