t i .
83 tur . beau . gold.
i say to myself only this one word
only this one word only this one.
please . touch me there.
i don't care . thinking the
only consequense of fucking is orgasms
and stained sheet.s
i say this word this word. this work.s
" knuckle "
this forces you to ask what the fuck I may be talking about
this forces you to fear .
this force. that bends my joints.
that somewhere out there are prokaryotes that live off our skin.
the cracked knuckles of work = a = day. weekends.
sleeping our pillows pressed into the side of our
sharp turned necks . never forgetting .
teh 3viL B3Nd 4nd hax.
one day : .you. dear reader : will be old
a joint that creaks will drive madness to the
fore front of your thoughts.
only one though prevails. a candy dish
that slowly empties with the infrequent
visits of children and their dis approving
touch your finger to my beating heart.
exposed benieth the liquid rising
around the gape in my open chest.
drift . right. drift.
did you forget.
- ready dready hear comes some fuxxxing hippy shit -
ok . ok . ok .
.put . out .t. here
one moon. we've all the same. shape and open eye. into the
surface of the sun obscured by our own presence. drifting west.
ward. away. from . your. caved in pectorals. away from your.
caved in pecked out tutorials on how the eyed drifts.
from skirt to skirt . but always. like a `aaa` anime
back to the same warm cunt. the same warm
23 Jan 2008
t i .
Posted by David Setchell at 06:47