thick_slick_sick
misstree there's too much gumming up the grey matter for things to even rattle properly. they ooze around like marbles in mucous. they rest heavy on the lowest point as i hang my head. they send messages of gravity to the stomach, which churns and mutters its weird song in sympathy. everything is a little darker, slower, uglier, heavier, needier, emptier, deader than it should be. i want to flush it all out. 040315
...
stork daddy doomed, like a tarantula,
like the great gatsby,
to spin dark unseen webs,
obscuring some truth
from all but victims,
but prey. the ugly neccessities.
sometimes though,
the twirl of a parasol,
the slow jointed steps
like waltzing,
an acrid floor,
paved over with pomp
with decorum,
ritual,
rose colored curtains
sheathing
fangs.
040315
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from