SUCH VAPID CLUNGE

A requiem worth the worth of liquor
becaue I can't fucction without your sweet nectar running through my veins
so run into the gummy mists of gentrified bitches filling baskets with rain and Dance inside
Spitting into the bottle, god I spat. I didn't think, dammit I didn't think. Now we're all left in ruin. In ruin, so long good times.
Because you took my brain and fiilled it with your honey'd wors. Your sweet words are more addictive than the hot hot sun, caressing my pale skin. Freckled,
Reginald? Ferocity and virgin snow combine equates to untold mysteries unfolding in a bloody flash of torn flesh outside of your outstretched blessed belligerent belly flesh
Sick. I was sick to my stomach. It burnt and I din't care. Just as long as I could see her agin, nothing mattered. Fuck I think I've swallowed it.
Kiss, kiss and m iss my naked flesh, touching your own. Tears sting my face again and the salted water runs into my belly button. How can you hear me screaming that I love you in my silence. You are so naïve. Twenty five years and so naieve. Can't you see you are the world and so much more
niave than a fairy caring for an elderly anphibian lady underwater daily giving lectures untold to men so old they barely reach to knock their knees and they barely kneel to kiss their neice but oh have peace and grab a bit of your own unfit fatty folding flank! HAVE A WANK!
Retribution has left my inhibition now. Any pleasure I wanted was lanf left from conciense. Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone. And I do. I weep and lagh and fuck until I can't see. It's not your fault mum. Not at all. Not one bit. I have cancer.
Mum AND DAD, YOU FUCKED ME OVER. I'M SO SORRY BUT YOU DID. I'M SMALL AGAIN, A CHILD AND YOUR TELLING ME I'm doing wrong. Ive chalk on my palms and dreams in my head and face is a hundred snap shots in a dusty camera lens, you told me not to go there, it's bad... naughty, it's all wrong wrong wrong, and so I long for it. I long for something you said would not be mine if I was a good child, good girls have londe hair and never tell. I always tell
HELLO. . . MY NAME IS ziggy stardust AND I AM A COMPULSIVE LIAR of the most repulsive gene. I cannot realise my own most unrealised dreams. Into the ether and under your bed. Grab you father's father and hand him some bread. Where is that fuckload of ketamine in which to find that picture again all the pen in it is bled in a river and paul pulled me out you've got to find that picture again I've got to see it again a really amazing drawing of a ship flap hands clap hand get clap and HANG OUT WITH ART PEOPLE they have good hair, good drugs and a interpespective only equalled by a large purple mewtwo.
Green long johns. Ha. I never use those. Get out. GET THE FUCK OUT!
Peace peace. That's a desire I can quantify in steam in steam which follows a dead pistol and a record fall. Mangled ripped up car wrecks. Interesting, isn;t it. Oh god I lost you. I lost you agin. I lost you and you'll never come back ever and iT s all my fault. The means justify the ends.
I fucked the postman, I fucjed the milkman, I fucked the camera man. I lost my mind and everything that went with it. Until I was skinny, until I was tasty thin, bones and the smallest flesh that would fit around them, finally, I had exactly what I wanted and at everyone elses stiupid expense. Fuck them, fuck them to the corners of eaarth yet to be discovered and back.
Hold it. Fine. Hold it. Mine. Come on skin your love and have it in. My my my mym ymymy . Mine. MINE> OH I told you to be careful. Why are you under my bed and inside my mouth. Under my hair and inside my pillow. I'll wisper to you in my sleep. I'll reach over and drink water and drool it to you like grissle through a sponge. Such vapid clunge. Such ignorant rythme. Such insolent time. OH UNTOLD FIND unfind me so that I'll be free from such intracate vines which wind and wind unwind from my arms and shoulders bent back like a crows wings underneath a farmers hand. Mister recording record your meister fighter.
FUCK YOUR PIE>
Interseting. I logged this in my journal, though with my current disposition, I am feeling it increasiblgy isolated in this state. How can I rememeber. Think. Think. Where am I? What is reason? It's trouble, everywhere we look, but all I really feel can be controlled is the undeterrable urge to control. The infinite feeling of loss. This is the same. This is the main.

Gaza

Is it the being or the doing
That constitutes a feeling?

Lost in a maze of sand
That lost my mind
It lost it
Not I
And I defy any foreign lives.

Gaza screams whilst I eat ice cream

And I ponder trueness as does Khan Younis

This constitutes a feeling, here
A sharp blow against the back of your skull
As you rush into school
And piss on each other
And point fingers at men

We are all just men
Who fight over sand
As if it were gold.

We Lucked out.

Do deaf, dumb and blind people fall in love?

Do they feel as I?

Because often love is like that

Stumbling over clumsy words

With your eyes shut tight

Covering your ears

Not speaking a single

Solitary

Sound.

You get hooked on a feeling

You substitute it for yourself.

You get the crawl and lustrous moon device

In hand

And yelp attack.

And that's all you get.