conceal your ailment so they can hold you as human in their eyes.

that is what i so loath, what i so desire.
oh tie me up, untie me!
all this wishing i was dead is getting old,

its getting old.

and so we go on and on.

i say.

you there! stop wearing my clothes.

years upon years. disposed. dispossessed. or so disaffected by the heart that tries. countless rush and surge, gush and pound pound pound pound.

yes monotony.

and i the eternal ungrateful host.

depression glass is traded still, for thats what you are a cheap thrill, a stick man a living will.

bottles and bodies the cannibals consume countless measures slowly exhumed by crows and sparrows picking your bones in whispering chorus

so laugh. i laud your banality.

what is it that grants normalcy?

for when you are strong i am strong, and when you are weak i do not belong.

let the poison be strained through the tree.

but chop it down with your machete.

the blood drains the sweetness from the fruit.

when did genetics become such a marketing tool for subpar product?

it is because we are so imperfect and so

born to be insufferable.

oh but love the beautiful ones.

the pretty little children drunk and high,
and

who F U C K.


let them fuck.


for they do what they so please,
drinking whiskey and sin and sin

and
sin
and
sin

who dares say a vice these days is pent with in the old black book? laudable laughter. God is dead, so I am told. but then what is anything at all.

filling emptiness with nothing.


convinced there is a future in the fucking when there's no fucking future.
so
what will i need? i say, what is it that makes me please you?

autistic child. said a man in a white coat.

the woman too. her glasses were large and round. i thought back then it provided her a keener sense of the world. but when you are blind you see inside, and no one likes to do that, so give me larger eyes. she thought, i think.

they said the tests confirm it so.

so i let go of perspective.


how does the human feel? i wonder. how is it that i am at an arms length always to no avail. less the disparity inside, the great rain. i suppose i should say: "stop". then recollect what has been washed away, then i noticed that even the litter looks elegant in the rain. so it goes, and goes


and
g
o
e
s away.

"he is wearing your clothes", ill say.

to conceal your ailment so they can hold you as human in their eyes.

that is what i so loath, what i so desire.