there is only God! many squares one, a rung away from wrath, a ground vessel beyond water
Current mood: purgatory
there is only God! there is only God!
just part the lips just so. a bristle of air through the teeth, draw a breath and catch a wave of sound from the chords…
no morer digging, no more building, you should never cut loose a quitter.
people and their cruel wicked lives. people and their toxins. their obnoxious pride. hand over fist, hand over fist. well whooptie fuckin do for you, bitch. i don’t care. want my advice? for what?
well then, for what it’s worth, if we weren’t all dry humping the favor of the Almighty I guess we’d all be like me wouldn’t we? it’s only me and a few bums know the truth about ourselves. maybe the world is really just divided between the spoiled and the contrite.
no beginning no end, no umbilical cord no tether… no sympathy no remorse for me. but it never was up to me, not really. just like it’s not up to you. to take the fall for the worst is just as stupid as thanking yourself at the podium.
no light no let up. confined in my own mind whether emancipation is or isn’t. but I can’t pay my illusion bill. i can’t pay. i can’t pay. i didn’t realize what a luxury it was to pay.
my fingers and feet. cold, stuck gingerbread. broken off and a few inches away. my genetalia comes next. and then my belly. and then my heart. until there’s nothing left except my eyes and my awful head. to see it all and process it. and process it. and store it and remember. and store it and remember. if i ever get out of this with a semblance of sanity, if i can still recognize a single good thing, if I’m still the same inside, I think I’ll live a life of unrelenting charity. a bitter hose of spite and good will.
it’s not like if we did this all again things would’ve been different. your quarter and my quarter would still only make half. there’s only a few things wrong with you. mine’s congenital, I haven’t been right since I opened my eyes. at some point “why” becomes… scraps.
i thought of saying something mean to you, but there aren’t the words ample enough to wound you just how I want. anyway, if it’s worth any thing you’re the only reason i’ve ever said a single thing. i learned to do for myself, but. it didn’t get me nearly as far. maybe that’s how it ought to be. it’s what I get for trying to get too full. they tried to tell me stop dreamin that way.
i’m sick about the bottom feeling like home. immediately my singing got better, I knew that was a sign. oh, the table is just too painful. i’m out of breath, I sweat. I dirty napkins and hide them around the house. so many responsibilities, I spent too much time trying to fake being normal i should’ve just got on my hands and knees and really worked with my disease. can you by any chance see that? my words are disgusting in my own mouth