life recepticle full of decomposing human organs for sale.
the light dances.
it dances.
fragments, wavelengths, fillaments of prism-esque shards.
personification is pitiful.
how can light dance.
it is merely reflected off corneas, projected upon brain matter, seen in irises.
it doesn't dance.
it is shown, and then it fucking dies.
it is crucified, murered, stabbed, decapitated by dull knives, disembowled with old spoons sharpened with blades.
oh, sorry.
personification.
people are made of light.
it somehow grows, sprouts within our beings.
i'm going to harvest it one day, sell it in bottles, tubes, powder and balms.
make people think they glow when actually it only changes the chemical make-up of your mind, in reality you don't catch yourself ripping your face off, layer by layer, exposing the dull bone beneath the grinning skeleton.
rip off the epidermis tissue.
rip off the nervous tissue.
rip off the muscle tissue.
stuff it full of lies, paste the dead matter back on.
everything will work out.
i cross my fingers in front of your face.
but i still hook you up to the i.v.'s.
pump you full of chunky viscous fluid, blood, if they call it that anymore.
deceased lively units.
hemoglobin phagocytic saviors.
peice me back together naturally for once.
i can't take the humming machinery anymore.
even if it is the only thing keeping me alive.
it dances.
fragments, wavelengths, fillaments of prism-esque shards.
personification is pitiful.
how can light dance.
it is merely reflected off corneas, projected upon brain matter, seen in irises.
it doesn't dance.
it is shown, and then it fucking dies.
it is crucified, murered, stabbed, decapitated by dull knives, disembowled with old spoons sharpened with blades.
oh, sorry.
personification.
people are made of light.
it somehow grows, sprouts within our beings.
i'm going to harvest it one day, sell it in bottles, tubes, powder and balms.
make people think they glow when actually it only changes the chemical make-up of your mind, in reality you don't catch yourself ripping your face off, layer by layer, exposing the dull bone beneath the grinning skeleton.
rip off the epidermis tissue.
rip off the nervous tissue.
rip off the muscle tissue.
stuff it full of lies, paste the dead matter back on.
everything will work out.
i cross my fingers in front of your face.
but i still hook you up to the i.v.'s.
pump you full of chunky viscous fluid, blood, if they call it that anymore.
deceased lively units.
hemoglobin phagocytic saviors.
peice me back together naturally for once.
i can't take the humming machinery anymore.
even if it is the only thing keeping me alive.