(no subject)
There is no wide open like you, you don't exist. There is no wide wave flats, moving out from the center under the endless sky. Even in the dankest places, the depths that I saw in your eyes that I didn't know, never to be touched, never touched by me, like the hot stove of your tears burning my mind. What have you done to the doing I am? the process I wipe from my body like mercury, like poison civilization transforming the toxic interned corpse into cybershaman done with and fashioned weapon of myself. You hit me with the hammer of your mind sparkling sparkles of disco nirvana inside the out.
I cannot ever enough of smoothness. The babychild jesus wasn't in these makeup ads, like perfect Adriana Lima crucified on my cock of glory, there is more impulse foundationally under what I want to be than that for you to recreate, the tonalities and shifts rioting inside the colors of my endless landscape. You feel the edges of my nations of painful wondering, the maps I made of the intricacies of your mind too much for the territory of the fire shifting in the interior. Womb me, like the only death I wanted, with the livid redution of my intellect inside the rightieous pain that you think is so valuable, so cutting and calculating. I like the leaving, and I am the leaving. I am forever the desert.
You have illusions of containing the me that I am. You have the best allplan for reducing the gradient to categories, the rainbow to a striped jello mold, the hooves of the horses I rode naked filling out the boxes of fruity for now. I am not for now, you are the only thing that I see in my predator vision, you are the lateral kill of my wide bomb of mind.
Fuck this. Keep fucking it.